


Where The North Wind Meets The Jezebel

by AETXL



Category: Frozen (Disney Movies), Frozen - Anderson-Lopez & Lopez/Lee
Genre: Action, Action Violence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Elsa Has Ice Powers (Disney), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Rivals to Lovers, F/F, Give Elsa A Girlfriend (Disney), I cannot believe this is a 'one shot', Lemon, Lesbian Elsa (Disney), Lesbian Honeymaren (Disney), Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Maren needs a drink, Marooned, One Shot, Pirates, SHE ANGST, Serious Injuries, Slow Burn, Smut, Top Elsa (Disney), elsamaren, like seriously super angsty though, long af one shot, not-a-desert island, we get into 1600s/1700s racism aka slavery at one point angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:15:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28106886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AETXL/pseuds/AETXL
Summary: CW: Violence (PG-13: Mainly action violence and nightmares)Honeymaren has sailed the seas for years without much trouble, until she and her brother spot a ship pursuing theirs in the distance. Despite their attempts at disguise, she knows immediately that it's pirates. Not just any pirate ship, either--the dreaded Jezebel, captained by the despicable and legendary Ice Queen.Injured and marooned on an island with only the heinous Ice Queen for company, Maren contemplates her chances of survival and dreams of home... Little does the pirate know, that home is one they share...Can Maren survive her injury and enact revenge? Will Elsa the Ice Queen destroy her prey, the captain of The North Wind? Or will they recognize that their only chance of survival is together?
Relationships: Elsa & Honeymaren (Disney), Elsa/Honeymaren (Disney), elsamaren - Relationship
Comments: 26
Kudos: 65





	Where The North Wind Meets The Jezebel

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Domika83](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Domika83/gifts).



> I'm not fucking editing this (except if someone spots consent issues, very important!), I meant to write a one shot!  
> How tf do y'all write one shots?! What is wrong with me??!
> 
> Gift for @ Domi, who deserves every single word!
> 
> Anyway, enjoy! I had fun writing!  
> PS if you are looking for my usual soft-feels vibe, I deliberately tried to not do that. Just warning you now.

☠️

Ryder screws up his face, mouth ajar, as he peers through the telescope. Maren stands beside him, awaiting his assessment. “British uniforms, I’d say.”

“And?”

“… And no colors.”

“Yeah,” she quietly groans through her gnashed teeth. Maren holds her hand out, and Ryder passes the telescope over. She holds it up, peers through it off the starboard stern. Pinching her lips, already sensing bad news, she looks through the telescope herself. The ship in her sights might be too far to make out the name, but she can make out the uniforms among the average folk, conscripted by force… No colors though, no flag.

Then, perhaps because the light shifts, the sun blocked momentarily by the gathering thunderheads, Maren catches sight of their captain. Certainly, it should be too far to say for sure, but the glint catches her eye. As the captain of that ship closes a telescope, hands it off to someone, turns… hands raise to shining, platinum blonde hair. Stuffing it into the captain’s hat.

 _I know that ship._ Not that she’s seen it before, but she _knows_ about it.

It’s all a ruse. They’re not the British navy. That would have been bad enough.

Eyes wide and jaw set tight, she lowers the telescope and slowly hands it back to her brother. Her lips disappear as she looks him in the eye. He looks afraid.

“Ryder,” Maren says softly, the tension she feels cutting across her voice.

He nods.

“Tell the helmsman to get us as far away from that vessel as humanly possible, whatever it costs. And… Run up a white flag.”

“Mm… Mare?”

“Quietly, prepare the cannons,” Maren finishes. “No bells or whistles, as of this second, do you understand? No ‘ma’am’ or ‘sir’ of any sort above a whisper. Keep everyone calm. Until further notice we are…” Carefully, Maren considers what might be most likely to save their skins. “Subjects of the… ‘British crown.’”

In other words, _Get everyone ready for the worst_.

“Yes,” Ryder says, breathing deep into his chest. Nonetheless, he runs across the quarter deck, passing instruction to each and every person they pass.

 _We’re just merchants,_ Maren thinks, grimacing, eyes still fixed on that hint of a sail in the distance as The North Wind, her own ship, shifts its course in hopes of outrunning it. Considering the thought itself, she adjusts herself, straightening out her coat. _We’re just fishermen. Hm, no. Whalers?_ Their cargo is highly flammable… A full-on fight with pirates would be disastrous, and yet a surrender to _that_ ship could only result in a fate worse than death for her entire crew.

Tense across her shoulders, leaning heavily against the railing.

The fucking Jezebel tails them. Led by none other than the fabled Ice Queen herself.

“Fucking hell.” She takes a deep breath in, pauses. Then breathes in again, deeply. Glancing skyward, Maren takes note of the clouds gathering. Smells like rain.

☠️

Completely soaked through by torrential rain, Maren sneers at the helmsman, “What do I pay you for if you can’t outrun a ship twice our size?!”

Over the noise of the rain and waves and thunder, he replies, “That ship is possessed, captain!”

“Save it!” Maren rushes down from the quarter deck, marches to the first hatch that brings her closest to the gun deck. Traipsing down the stairs, she finds her brother with most of her crew, nervously manning the cannons. Seeing her, Ryder calmly approaches her. He walks quickly though. The multitude of prepared guns hanging around his neck by ropes—easier to hand out while each sailor’s guns are reloaded once fighting begins—sway with his every step. “Mare?” he asks. “What—?”

“Get ready,” she growls. Before she can stop it, Ryder pulls her in for a tight hug. At first, she’s mad, but then she’s screwing her eyes shut, holding him as close as she can. What chance do they have in this fight? Her whole life, she did everything in her power to protect her little brother. She loved him more than anything, even more than The North Wind, which she fought for with everything she had. If she could trade everything she had worked for in a trade for his safety—and that of the whole crew—from their coming fate, Maren would do anything. In a heartbeat.

They separate, and their charged eyes meet once more. She sticks her hands in the pockets of her trousers, memorizes Ryder’s face, and turns away to quickly run back up to the main deck. In that short time, the rain’s died down considerably. Looking up, she can still spot flashes among the clouds—lightning, distantly above. With a short huff, she removes the emotion from her face, turns her attention toward the stern once again.

There’s no denying the proximity of the Jezebel now, flying a flag of the British navy—a bold lie. From what she’s heard, there’s not a single citizen of that wretched empire on that even more despicable pirate ship. But the flag means they believe her own lie, that The North Wind is a weaponless, basic merchant ship, not worth these pirates wasting their ammunitions. An easy target.

 _Good,_ Maren thinks. Of the ways she and Ryder and the crew could die, burning alive surrounded by casks of explosive rum seems like the least preferable option. Forcing her body into motion, she climbs back up to the quarter deck, beside the helmsman, who struggles to keep his eyes forward and licks his lips nervously. Maren climbs past him, positions herself at the stern. From here, despite the wind and waves, she can hear the windows of the captain’s cabin open below her. And the pair of cannons being positioned in her quarters there, ready to fire at her signal. The stern chasers below her quarters will certainly do damage when they fire, too, but given the size and speed of the damned thing chasing them, she figures a creative additional volley is necessary.

Standing off the stern, she can see their pursuers’ captain standing at the bow of her Jezebel. Close enough that no telescope is necessary. “Steady,” Maren calls to the helm, adjust her stiff, wide-brimmed hat. Then, a little unused to the weight, she adjusts the sword and knives hidden on her belt by her worn, maroon overcoat. Pinching her lips, she looks up at the other captain again. Surely she can see Maren, too. “Wait,” she repeats, quieter this time.

The woman’s head turns slightly, probably giving an instruction, just as the rain picks up again. Moments later, Maren notices that British flag starting to move, to lower.

_Now!_

Maren stomps her foot loudly, braces herself. Below her, deafening cannon fire. They blast the Jezebel’s bow as they raise their pirate flag, now obvious as Maren’s helmsmen turn The North Wind as fast as possible. They’d been skating alongside dangerous shoals for hours now; if they can get across them after dealing just enough dissuading damage to the monsters behind them, the larger ship wouldn’t be able to follow any further.

Sneering, Maren watches the other captain leap into action. “Surprised you, didn’t we?” she mutters under her breath.

As they turn, perpendicular to the pirates on their tail, Maren shouts orders across the main deck while cannons fire from the main gun deck. The crew runs around her as she watches the shoals. Then she turns back to assess the serious damage to the bow and foremast of their pursuers. Her heart sinks to her stomach. The Jezebel isn’t turning. However, their foremast teeters as though it might fall… forward, toward Maren, toward the North Wind! She can’t spot the rival captain anywhere, and the damaged ship isn’t turning!

With clouds darkening around them and cannon smoke filling the air with mist, the shine of lightning provides the only light. To Maren’s horror, a singular flash illuminates the Jezebel’s fast approach and the woman in a royal navy uniform as she runs across the falling foremast. The woman leaps into the air, a sword already drawn, lands upon the stern of The North Wind. She only has a few seconds to run out of the way when the mast crashes, destroying a portion of the deck where Maren had been standing. Wood shrapnel flies around them. Maren leaps over a rail down to the quarterdeck. Someone nearby screams, likely stabbed by the debris.

When she looks back up at the railing, the woman stands above her, sneering down. Perhaps sneer is too strong a word considering how expressionless the woman is. But in her eyes, dark blue like the stormy seas around them, Maren sees a sneer, a challenge, a threat. She sees the pirate captain’s thoughts in those eyes: How dare you fight back? And in that half-second, Maren snarls right back and spits on the ground, hoping to convey all the disgust in the world for her.

Disgust, however, is not what Maren actually feels.

The woman is strikingly—shockingly—gorgeous. Wisps of platinum blonde hair slip past the constraints of her tricorn hat, matching the shimmer of the white-and-gold detailing of her false uniform. Its navy blue color becomes her, not only matching her eyes but also showing off a more natural figure than Maren is used to seeing among women, generally. Women in public anyway. Despite being covered in cloth (and weaponry) from her neck to her toes, the notorious Ice Queen coaxes a ravenous desire in Maren.

All of this, she recognizes in the blink of an eye, during which time Maren draws her own sword and jumps backward as the Ice Queen leaps down to her level. Their swords meet with a hideous metallic clang. And although her rival remains austere and expressionless, Maren roars as pirates follow their captain aboard The North Wind. She pulls out knife after knife, throws them at pirates as they approach, retrieving her blades as she fights off the Ice Queen’s disinterested flurry of strikes. To the best of Maren’s ability, she drives off the others, protecting herself and her nearby helmsman. But she can tell from the shouting, the sound and spark of gunfire, and the rising smoke, that these enemies are getting past her. For the most part, they’re leaving her for their Ice Queen captain to destroy and focusing their attacks on Maren’s loyal civilian crew.

The Jezebel shudders—the mast has fallen into the sea, no longer can serve as a bridge between the two ships. As expected, Maren’s helmsman quickly shifts the The North Wind, trying to shake off the intruders while pursuing the shoals. Everyone onboard lurches at the sudden movement except for her. With a shout, Maren leaps into the fight against her adversary anew. Her strike against the Ice Queen is heavy, gets her to grunt and step back. Encouraged, Maren grabs an abandoned sword from the floor and attacks. Not a single blow hits the beautiful devil, but Maren’s swordplay has her edging toward the stairs. If she can get the high ground over this woman, she might have a chance.

Then, the worst: Over the Ice Queen’s shoulder, Maren spots Ryder peeking up through the hatch door nearer the bow. For some goddamned reason he’s unlocked it, and now a pirate is reaching for him.

“Brother, no!”

Making matters worse, a torrent of cannon fire from the Jezebel. Maren can hear the cries of her crew across all decks, hears The North Wind riddled with holes. Then, the groan of her ship striking something below, an awful scraping sound—had they misjudged the shoals?? Desperate, she looks back—no one stands at the helm.

Their casks of rum would be exposed to the elements, and the enemy had very nearly set it ablaze, instead ruining god knows how many human lives.

In a few words, Maren is thoroughly distracted.

And suddenly, the Ice Queen is pushing her back. The woman grabs something from the ground and throws it at her face. Maren backs away, shielding herself, but her eyes burn from all the gun smoke and she nearly falls over her own feet. Realizing she’s been turned around, crowded toward the stairs, she jumps over the railing to the main deck below instead. When her dueler looks over the edge, she throws a knife at the woman’s face. She misses, but only barely. The black tricorn hat flies off of her head.

“Come and get me, you bitch!” Maren could swear she hears a hiss, but she turns away from the Ice Queen, instead throwing herself into the melee across the main deck. Although the other pirates all wear military uniforms, none of them match the Ice Queen’s in style, much less color. Trophies from previous conquests, perhaps.

In any case, they all bleed red.

Fighting feverishly across to the bow, she slowly accumulates a guard of her sailors on her way. As they approach the hatch—what’s left of it anyway—Maren chances a look back. The navy coat and platinum hair certainly stand out, even in the smoke and rain, especially given the increasing frequency of lightning strikes around them. Although the woman presses unnervingly close, Maren allows herself a modicum of relief to see that Jezebel hanging further back.

“Captain!”

Immediately, Maren turns to the voice of her third officer, then faces the stairs. Her crew has valiantly fought a path for her to get to her brother. Swords ready, she descends.

At first glance, the gun deck is not nearly the state of disrepair she imagined. Yet somehow, despite the sea and storm outside, too much natural light diffuses across the smoke—a grave sign. Plus, it makes it that much harder to see.

“Ryder?!” she calls. Almost the moment her foot lands upon the final step, a pirate lunges at her. He is quickly dealt with, but the room bustles with the fight.

Somewhere in the depths, she hears him shout, “Maren!”

“How sweet.”

She gasps, spins on her heel just in time to block the Ice Queen’s strike. The pirate’s blade stabs Maren at the shoulder and she shouts at the pain, but not deeply. Quickly, she pushes the blade out of her, snarling at the expressionless woman before her.

And god, she’s beautiful. Not fetching, not pretty, she’s stunning. How on earth could she possibly look so utterly _clean_ right now? The debris and smoke seem to have no effect on the Ice Queen; her skin looks like a porcelain doll, including the perfectly painted red lips. Her hair had fallen from the intricate up-do she’d had under that hat, now a simple yet elegant braid.

Unexpectedly, though, Maren’s snarl actually seems to affect her. The Ice Queen grunts with exertion, furrows her brow as she diverts Maren’s blows. Two swords prove better than one, and despite her circumstances, Maren guides their duel toward smaller quarters. As the smaller of the two women, she maneuvers through the increasingly cramped space more easily whereas the Ice Queen repeatedly knocks her blade and body against the walls as she fights Maren. It’s not enough to gain an upper hand, but it is enough to slow the pirate down.

That’s all it takes, Maren reminds herself. Steady persistence, slow her down, wait for her to make mistakes. And she does—Maren lands a blow across her forearm and a slash across her collar. Neither do true damage to the woman, and alas, a small part of Maren doesn’t want to maim her any further. (For less than noble reasons. A fantasy launches into Maren’s mind of disarming this devil of woman and slowing her way down. Laying atop her and listening to cries of ecstasy, giving thanks to a universe that could create such an exquisite woman.)

But she relishes the growing frustration on the porcelain face. At last, she’s got the Ice Queen cornered under the bow. Maren twirls her sword in hand, taking a second to pause and catch her breath. Maybe enjoy the view of this woman once more before defeating her. It’s a pause that saves her life.

A vicious cannonball flies through the wall between the two women, sending them both ducking to the ground. The noise momentarily deafens Maren. When she looks up, she sees the Ice Queen making her escape toward the door, back toward the gundeck. Maren groans, shouts at herself to get up, and although she can’t hear herself at first, it helps. Roaring, she gets to her feet and chases after the pirate captain. She catches sight of the blonde turning, probably heading back to the hatch. Beyond her, the gundeck looks smoky still but calmer—perhaps Ryder and her crew had fought the devils all back!

However, as Maren crosses that threshold after the Ice Queen, a gloved fist smashes into her cheekbone. She reels, stumbling sideways and dropping her swords. Suddenly, she’s pressed up against the curved wall. A gloved hand holds her there by her throat. The Ice Queen has her trapped, pushing her own weight down against Maren’s body to hold her in place. Her hands immediately come to her captor’s hand at her throat.

“Surrender or perish,” the blonde says sternly, gritting her teeth. Her sword is raised, threateningly close to Maren’s face.

 _She could have run me through,_ Maren realizes. _Instead of punching me._ This thief has a little honor left in her, she thinks. In honor of that, Maren spits not in the Ice Queen’s face, but at her boots.

Her red lips pinch as she exhales sharply through her nose; that wasn’t the answer she wanted _or_ expected. But she pauses, looking Maren over. Which is weird.

Especially because Ryder’s face emerges from the fog behind the Ice Queen. _He’s okay!_ More importantly, he’s pulled one last revolver from his collection, tosses it toward Maren.

“Any last words?”

_Click._

The Ice Queen’s pupils contract, shocked to hear a gun cock right beside her head. Somehow, she didn’t notice Maren lower a hand to catch the gun at all. Now the barrel points at her temple. It’s the first obvious facial expression Maren’s seen on her.

“You got any?” Maren replies, smirking. The grip on her throat lessens.

Suddenly, everything stops. Through a hole in the ship beyond Ryder, Maren can just make out casks floating in the shallower waters. Meaning the hull _was_ damaged. Meaning those might be rum casks, and other casks are exposed. It could even be gunpowder that’s gone overboard.

In that instant, a flash of lightning strikes, simultaneous with the crash of thunder even louder than a cannon. Everything blows apart.

☠️

Maren doesn’t lose consciousness right away.

Her first reaction is against the sea water in her mouth, the salt burning the corners of her eyes. There’s an unusual chill to the water around her from the storm, so different from the heat that sent her flying off her ship. At last, for the briefest moment, there’s air. She gulps it hurriedly, even as the sea shoves her back down.

_Remain calm,_ Maren tells herself, her lungs already begging for more air. Her heart beats too fast, and she knows she needs to calm it down without taking deep breaths. _You can’t be in deep ocean, remember? The North Wind hit the shoals, the reef…_ A horrid pang shivers through her heart. The fate of her ship, her crew, her brother can’t be known, but can’t be good. Ryder was so close when it happened!

_Air!_

Again, she sucks it in, but loses the fresh breath as she coughs against the rage of the ocean pulling her underwater again. Maren doesn’t fight it, knows she needs to save her strength to fight the water for when she has a chance to survive it. _And it’s already so exhausting,_ she thinks as her body’s spun around, knocked against hard objects underwater. Her heartbeat’s still at a frenzy, her body panicking.

_Think of the snow…_

_The good times…_

In Maren’s mind, she can picture it. The barest memory of the smell of snow comes back to her as she imagines home… Far to the north and east of here. Pristine snow. Birch trees. Bright sunshine. Reindeer. Ryder, so small, laughing at hitting her in the face with a snowball. Their parents. Her friends. Before everything went to shit…

Finally, she’s calming down. And, as though in perfect sync, the ocean stills around her, and her feet hit against what feels like the reef.

_Now fight!_

She opens her eyes, let’s a bubble out of her mouth. Against the sting of the salt in her eyes, Maren watches the bubble rise, and indeed the surface of the water is above her—there’s the slimmest light, dark blue. And above her, the water calms. Pushing against the sea floor, Maren kicks with all her strength, sweeps her arms ahead. When she finally hits the air, she’s been underwater so long that it feels cold. But cold air in her lungs sure beats none.

Nonetheless, she’s exhausted. Feebled by her fate, she lets the waves push her toward a distant shore, only occasionally paddling her body to avoid some rock or keep herself up. Drizzle taps her face, strangely reassuring, as her body washes ashore. Maren doesn’t even have the strength left to stand, to get out of the cold water and cold air. She sleeps.

☠️

The first coherent thought to come to Maren as she slowly wakes is that she must have had too much to drink last night. However, the next is the memory of Ryder’s face—determined and terrified—as he threw her the gun she aimed at that pirate. She groans at the thought, which brings her other senses into the action.

_Ugh, sand…_ She winces against the sensation of it stuck to her skin and, frankly, under her clothes. Groaning, Maren opens her eyes. Grey light—not quite dawn—surrounds her. The air is humid already, which she groans at as she pushes herself up from the beach. She rolls over, coughs, rubs at her throat as she sits up and assesses herself.

“All my fingers,” she says to herself, wiggles… “All my toes.” _And more importantly, it all works,_ Maren thinks. Ahead of her, some pinks and yellows on the horizon hint at a new day. Leaning back on her arms, she smirks, though there’s no joy in her heart. “It’s a start.”

_“You!”_

Maren leaps to her feet, to attention, whirling back and forth for the source of the voice. In the distance, here on this same beach— _the Ice Queen!_

“Just my fucking luck!” she shouts, slapping her hand over her eyes, wiping it down her face. She glares into the distance at the bitch who got her into this mess. No, nightmare. No wait—literal hell! Before Maren does anything too rash, though, she runs her hands over her maroon coat. Underneath the fabric, she feels a number of items still in her possession, though far fewer knives than she’d like. But much to her surprise, she finds her sword at her hip.

She smirks, eyes returning to the woman in the distance. _Just my luck!_ Letting the bitterness of her losses fuel her, Maren runs to meet the filthy pirate. (Across sand, which for the record, is difficult, but not quite as challenging as the snow she grew up around.)

Merely walking toward her, the Ice Queen is disheveled: Her face looks bruised, her blonde hair is messily tied back into a pony tail, and her British captain’s jacket is torn. As Maren runs closer, she realizes the edges of that coat has burns, too. She must have gotten the worst of that blast— _all the better for me!_

A shout builds in Maren and lets loose the closer she gets, enlivening her aching muscles. She unsheathes her sword, preparing an onslaught. Suddenly, the snarling Ice Queen pulls a gun from her torn overcoat—the revolver Ryder threw to Maren!

Gasping, she slides to a stop at the last second, not fifteen paces from the blonde. The Ice Queen cocks the gun, smiling malevolently, wildly at Maren. She feels the horror overtake her own face, wondering if this horrifying, enticing woman would really be the last thing she sees. And she pulls the trigger—!

Nothing.

Blinking rapidly, Maren takes a deep breath. The gun jammed. (Not surprising, after how much ocean likely got into it.) Maren’s eyes dart from the gun to the woman holding it—her jaw’s tight, biting her lips… looks her in the eye. _She’s afraid,_ Maren realizes. Something deep inside feels hungry, but Maren tells herself to shut up. With the tables turned, she has a duty to kill this woman.

Taking several steps forward, Maren raises her sword in challenge, sneering at the pirate before her. The woman stands there, mute and immobile, though. Maren blinks a few times at her. “What are you waiting for? Raise your weapon, fight me!” _Bitch…_

“I—!” The woman stops immediately, yet Maren can’t help but wonder why she would have said anything at all, much less why she stands there like a statue.

Then it hits her. “You have no other weapon,” Maren says, as though her voice speaks of its own accord. The pirate woman hisses in response, blue eyes flashing.

Shouting, Maren rushes forward, lunges to strike. The Ice Queen dodges with a yelp. Despite the rising sun, the air takes on a chill—Maren’s sure it’s her own body, nauseated by what she must do to the terrible, beautiful human being shrinking from her. _You could have mercy,_ she thinks as she moves to strike again, only for the Ice Queen to dodge away, rolling down a sand dune. _No, you can’t,_ she thinks, recalling her crew. How many had died? How many were swept out to sea? Blasted apart at their bones by cannons? Stabbed through? _Ryder… How could he and I both have survived the blast?_

That thought pushes Maren forward with the first real bloodlust to ever hit her stomach. She slashes at the woman, screaming her anger like a wild animal. But the woman sneers, shouts back, throws sand into Maren’s face.

“Aagh!” Her hands reach up to her face, her eyes. She stumbles back, gasps as she finds herself slipping on a dune. And although Maren tries to catch herself, her leg twists—too much! Pain erupts from her knee, and she shouts, falls, dropping her sword in the process. Maren screams, tears budding in her eyes as she holds her knee, rocking her forehead against the sand. Once she can say words again, she shouts, “Fucking fuck fuck fuck!!” Glancing up the way she tumbled, though, she sees the Ice Queen at the top of the dune, bending down to pick up Maren’s sword.

Ignoring the pain, Maren launches herself up and across the beach, away from the pirate. As far as her legs will take her, reaching the trees in mere seconds. She bites back a vicious cry, reminds herself what she was taught as a child: Pain is your body communicating with you—and sometimes, you must choose to ignore its advice.

\---

Elsa contemplates what to do next as the captain of The North Wind flees into the island’s depths. Giving chase makes no sense when she’s as tired as she is. What’s more, now _she_ has the only real tool on the island, a sword. Sooner or later, surely the woman would have to come to her. Then, she would finish her off. If that injury didn’t do that job for her.

_It sounded bad_ , she thinks, nodding very slightly to herself. Perhaps the ACL, based on her studies of human anatomy from… before. Yes, she might even be spared the duty of putting the injured woman out of her misery. In any case, Elsa now has the means to survive any attack from that woman or even other creatures on this uninhabited island.

Satisfied, exhausted to the bone, Elsa takes a seat on the beach and watches the sun rise.

☠️

The leg is… unfortunate. But Maren takes stock of the island quickly during her escape. As soon as she gets a dozen feet into the forest—no, jungle—she launches herself up a tree. Compared to the birch trees that lacked low branches and had sheer bark, these branchless palm trees aren’t too much of a challenge. Bending her injured knee results in no small amount of pain, but it _does_ bend at will, a good sign overall. Granted—once she reaches the top of her tree, looks down for a pursuer, and her eyes glance at the leg in question—the knee already appears to be swelling under her trousers.

_Focus!_ Maren peers down… but no Ice Queen follows her. Confused, she turns her attention the way she came—perhaps this pirate is a slow hunter? But no one enters the woods—jungle! Island near the equator, it’s a jungle. At last, her eyes lift to the beach, where the woman sits, watching the sunrise with Maren’s sword lazily stuck into the sand.

“Pfft!” Maren scoffs. “That’s foolish.” She could have killed Maren if she’d made a serious run for it. Now that she’s up a tree, even in this climate on an uninhabited island—can’t be more than seven square miles if she had to guess from this point of view—Maren knows far too well what she’s doing to get caught. Even with an injury. Only an egotistical wretch would assume so little of her. Grinning and shaking her head, Maren considers her next steps. Fresh water, shelter, food.

Careful to keep her injured leg straight and acting only as a guide and not for bearing her weight, Maren climbs down the tree once again. When she reaches the ground and still perceives no pursuit, she grins with wicked satisfaction. She begins carefully walking uphill. Less than a mile into her trek, Maren finds a fallen juvenile tree that she strips of its dead fronds. It makes an excellent walking stick to brace her injured leg with, and it doubles as a means to frighten away a venomous snake, besides.

On her way inland, Maren spots a number of creatures other than snakes. Birds are the main fauna, and she learns quickly that they are not much aware of the dangers a human could present. Food: Check.

Her goal in heading inland is to get uphill. From the most uphill spot, she could more easily discover freshwater. As it happens, Maren reaches a creek crossing her path during her journey. Although she moves slowly in the heat with her injury, she smiles to herself as she follows the creek upstream. As long as she can examine the water’s source, she should be able to tell if it’s safe to drink once boiled. It’ll mean extra sweating, but still. Freshwater: Check.

As for shelter, the trees thick with branches and fronds would make for easy building material compared to the environment of her youth, and her family still managed to build goahtis even in the sparsest of times. If nothing else, packed snow made excellent insulation, and dirt would do fine in its place if need be. Well before nightfall, Maren has found a small gully, which she lays fronds and dirt over thickly until it looks like even ground from above. Shelter: Check.

Like a magician, she coaxes a small fire to life, over which she manages to cook a couple small birds, a larger lizard, and a fish she caught with her own two hands. She also places a number of stones beside the fire. Then, she takes several fronds and weaves them together, sealing it slightly with mud on the outside, and she fills it with water from the stream. After a few minutes, Maren uses her walking stick to knock the hot rocks into her bowl, and the water boils.

_Still got it!_ Maren thinks as she fills her belly. Moments before the last rays of the sunset depart, she’s fast asleep.

☠️

When she wakes, Maren groans. She has sweat through her shirt. Grunting, she throws her coat, acting as a blanket, off of her body. For one horrifying minute, Maren frets that she’s got a fever, but no. The sun is high outside, unbearably hot. Disgusted, Maren leaves the safety of her shelter and strips, grimacing every time her knee gets jostled.

“Fool,” she grumbles at herself, following the gully to the stream. She lays down in it, holding her clothes down in the water alongside her. Grimacing, she bends her leg, forcing herself to elevate the swollen knee. It’s pretty ugly today in the early afternoon light. _I slept later than I thought I would,_ Maren thinks. Her stomach churns—not hunger exactly, and definitely not illness from her last meal. The sight of her knee must be the issue. Nonetheless, she does her best to cool off and wash up. While she lays in the water, she grabs a couple fish that stray too near. With only the one meal before she crawls back into her shelter to sleep, Maren resigns herself.

Despite her successes the day prior, she has little hope in the lives of her brother and crew, little hope in rescue. And her knee… As she falls asleep slowly, Maren finds herself wondering what the beautiful pirate might be doing to devise her end…

_Beautiful?!_ She gasps as she jerks awake.

Grumbling at herself in her little gully bed, Maren bites her lip. _She wasn’t beautiful, just… just pretty!_

☠️

The first time Maren realizes the Ice Queen is nearby, she nearly panics. Her heartbeat races as she registers footsteps. Aided by adrenaline, she listens more closely, realizes she hears the Ice Queen’s stomping through thick plant-life, less than a quarter-mile away. That’s a satisfying distance though, considering it took this long for her pursuer to get this far. Were Maren hunted by someone back home, she would have been dead a day ago. Or sooner.

As things stand, Maren feels a little mischievous. Even if she outlives this foolish, incompetent woman, and she lives out the rest of her days on this island—which she could—she’d be miserable. Might as well tempt fate.

Maren dresses herself, albeit lightly. She sticks to her undergarments and trousers, which give her swollen knee a bit of a (false) sense of stability. Distantly, she wonders if there were ever peoples like her own that _did_ live on this island, and how they might have dressed in this climate compared to her own indigenous people, her home.

She takes advantage of her rested knee and climbs a tree, but she must bite back a cry at the pain shooting up her leg and spine. It’s much harder this time compared to her initial escape. _You pushed yourself too hard, Mare,_ she thinks, imagining her brother’s voice. As if rebuking him, she next thinks, _It was necessary. My body’s irritated with the necessities, and I get the message, but it had to be done._

Eventually, sooner than expected, the Ice Queen passes by below. She even walks over Maren’s shelter, but her efforts on her first day prove effective. The pirate doesn’t notice at all that she walks across a human-made bridge over a gully.

And she’s frustrated. She looks even dirtier than Maren left her, swinging Maren’s sword wildly at anything that moves, plants included. She dips her face into the shallows of the nearest pond (instead of flowing water, much less boiling the water first). Whether she’s had anything to eat lately seems like a question not worth asking, because the woman handles so much so poorly. (At least, while she passes by Maren’s territory. Completely unaware of Maren, completely distracted.)

It would be nice to get her sword back.

☠️

Maren keeps a close eye on the pirate over the next few days. Her knee remains irritating. Actually, it worsens from her efforts to keep track of her enemy. But surely if she is to survive, she must keep tabs on the woman.

It’s hard to think of the Ice Queen as an enemy at this point though. While Maren’s been able to easily hunt small prey and even find fruit and edible plants, the pirate has little success. Drinking plain water doesn’t make the Ice Queen sick, at least—watching her die of dysentery doesn’t appeal much to Maren. But in the three days since the attack, since the storm, she has little reason to believe the pirate’s eaten anything.

Watching her doesn’t make Maren feel the relief that she expected, either. Mainly, Maren watches the captain sadly as she loses to frustration, to tears, to hunger. Sometimes, it even makes her shiver. At least the blonde stumbles upon some satisfying bugs periodically _(GROSS)_ , but… clearly, the woman won’t last long here at this rate.

_Don’t pity her,_ Maren tells herself day after day. With an injured leg of her own, she ought to be resting in a medic’s care on The North Wind herself. This bitch’s actions have caused Maren her own injury, her own shipwreck, and separation from her dearest friend and sibling, Ryder. Try as she might, however, each day Maren feels less and less hatred for the captain of the Jezebel.

If she struggles this much with survival, surely The North Wind is the first ship to truly test this woman. It’s puzzling considering the horrifying stories about the Jezebel and its captain. Although she doesn’t watch the Ice Queen every minute of every day, although she knows that she _must_ steal back her sword and end it all, Maren can’t help her sense of compassion toward this hungry, suffering, lonely woman.

☠️

She contemplates her leg, her stomach twisting at the sight. And the throbbing pain behind her kneecap. At this point, it looks something like sausage stuffed into her trousers. Yet none of her bones are broken, she’s certain. It doesn’t make any sense. Maren turns her attention down to the ground again. From her perch up a tree—a big leafy one with actual branches, so she can rest her leg—she considers the Ice Queen below.

Despite the chill tonight, the woman still makes no fire. She rests solemnly below, breathing slowly beside the pond that she has made her camp (a liberal term for the Ice Queen’s set up, to be honest). Maren can’t say for sure that her enemy has even _tried_ to make a fire. Considering she has yet to catch a fish to cook, though, maybe it’s for the best. Then a shadowy thought crosses Maren’s mind: Perhaps, weakened as she is, the Ice Queen fears the smoke from any fire would lead Maren to her. Even with the sword in her possession while Maren has little more than a hunting knife at her own disposal, the Ice Queen is vulnerable.

Her stomach sinks. Maren watches the woman huff in frustration and dejectedly roll onto her side to sleep. The sword, without its sheath, lays beside the Ice Queen, close enough to grab but cautiously placed where she wouldn’t roll onto it in her sleep.

_I don’t want to do this._

That sounds like Ryder, too. They had avoided committing murder whenever The North Wind found itself in danger, yet Maren had made no secret of her willingness to do the job. Thinking back on the storm nearly a week ago, her stomach churns at the memory of throwing knives into her attackers. Just because she hadn’t aimed for vital organs, that didn’t mean those pirates had lived. Their injuries might have become infected even, a truly horrid way to die. Right up there with starvation.

Presumably Ryder had done the same to protect the crew.

Sighing, Maren drops her head back against the tree trunk. The crew of The North Wind undoubtedly suffered many deaths because of this pitiful woman below. _I shouldn’t feel guilty,_ she tells herself, willing herself not to let her emotions take control. She lifts her hands to her face, containing it. _It wasn’t my fault. I did what I could… and they’re dead anyway._

Opening her eyes and glancing down again, Maren wants to feel hatred. But she had killed, too. Wouldn’t that woman be a lousy captain were she not pursuing Maren for revenge? She could have surrendered immediately. Maybe the rumors of leaving none alive, or worse, weren’t true. Had she traded those lives for the sake of many, or had she forced the Ice Queens’ hand, needlessly endangering everyone?

When the moon crosses half the sky, Maren carefully climbs down, trying to keep her injured leg as straight as possible. It’s of little use, she discovers, sliding haphazardly down the tree and grunting a lot more than she wishes. However, her prey remains asleep, unaware of Maren’s presence. She even pauses once she reaches the ground, watching the Ice Queen’s breath rise and fall under the tattered blue coat. The woman twitches slightly, dreaming. Quietly, Maren approaches.

In the moonlight, Maren admits to herself that the Ice Queen indeed is beautiful. Here, the only person to deny it to is herself, so she gives up and admires the sleeping woman. No longer does she look like a doll, either, but a human being in flesh and blood. Pale still despite the intense sunlight during the day on this island, flush despite the cooler night. Dirt sweeps across her face, her shoulder where her white shirt has ripped. Near the neckline.

If not for her throbbing leg, Maren might have kneeled down closer to admire. As it is, the Ice Queen sleeps undisturbed. Her brow creases as she dreams. Maren holds her breath, afraid that she senses her presence. But the woman relaxes again, makes the tiniest sound, a soft whine.

 _Fuck,_ Maren thinks. Her hand covers her own mouth to keep from speaking aloud. Heat rolls over her, and she knows she _wants_ this woman.

 _What the fuck am I going to do?_ she thinks. Still holding her mouth, just in case, Maren crosses her other arm over her chest, her lips twitching with indecision… trying to ignore a hunger that no amount of hunting can satisfy.

If she leaves the sword, however, Maren might be defenseless. The Ice Queen won’t starve tomorrow, and she’s otherwise well. Maren definitely is not. She can barely bend her leg, she keeps _not_ resting it, she might not be able to push herself through the pain tomorrow.

And if Maren kills this woman, picks up the sword at her feet and stabs her while she sleeps— _God no,_ Maren thinks, shivering with disgust at the thought. Murder in defense is bad enough, but doing it with such an unfair advantage… That’s supposedly what pirates do, not a simple person like herself just trying to survive.

She must take the sword. But she can’t do this. She can’t kill her.

If Maren takes the sword, the woman will know that she took it and let her live—what would she do in response?

Probably rage.

Frustrated, Maren seizes her own hair in her hands and animatedly, but silently, mouths, “Fuck!”

☠️

Sunshine gently coaxes Elsa awake. She inhales deeply before her blue eyes flutter open. Mid-morning, perhaps 0800. Moaning as her aches and pain returns to her body, Elsa sits up, rubs her temple gently, looks around. The sounds of birds and insects surround the watering hole where Elsa rests each night since her arrival. It’s lovely.

Her stomach growls painfully. Elsa grimaces, holds her stomach. Bugs are not cutting it, and each time she tries to freeze a bubble around a fish, she ends up freezing it. And, she has learned, defrosting a frozen fish with her powers leads to disastrous results. She sighs, resigning herself to the slow process of trying to catch a fish with her bare hands. Pursing her lips, she looks around herself, eyes out of focus.

Something’s wrong, she realizes. _What is it? What’s off?_ Her hand falls to her hip, then to the ground beneath her. She checks her other side. Suddenly, Elsa launches to her feet, gasping in horror. “The sword’s gone!”

She pauses, furrowing her brow and chewing her cheek. _All my toes, all my fingers…_ No, Elsa has no injury. The sword hasn’t rolled elsewhere… somewhere. And no other creature on this island could have picked it up, save one.

Elsa growls, feels her frustration mounting. She had hoped that the frustrating captain of The North Wind might have perished already, that she didn’t need to worry about her and that was the reason she hadn’t come for the sword. _I let my guard down,_ Elsa thinks. _She could have killed me, tortured me, done any number of horrible things._

Exhaling slowly, Elsa closes her eyes, willing herself to remain in control.

 _But she didn’t do any of those things,_ Elsa realizes, opening her eyes. Her gaze rises to her hands, slowly frosting over. From her hands to the sky above, she watches for the clouds that shall gather for her.

☠️

It takes Maren so long to limp back to her shelter that she doesn’t bother with a fire or food. She takes one large gulp from her bowl of previously boiled water, yanks her boot off the injured leg, and passes out, the sword safely sheathed at her hip. The sun would rise soon, and Maren means to be unconscious for most of the day if she can help it. A dream of her homeland comes to her, of curling up with her little brother and parents in their goahti at bedtime, of learning how to survive in the snowy forest in the far north…

The dream turns to a blizzard, the likes of which Maren can scarcely remember. She can’t see through the heavy snow that blasts through the woods. Then all of a sudden, looming above her— _The King!_

Maren gasps awake, breathing heavily. And at first, she isn’t sure she’s left the dreamworld. Perhaps her current circumstances are blending with the nightmare, shifting into something new? She hears the wind howl past her shelter in the gully, whipping into it as well. It’s searing cold. Already shivering in it, Maren looks at herself—one boot off, no shirt or coat. Quickly, she wraps herself up as much as possible, noticing as she does that no sunlight filters in through the leaves that help form the roof of her shelter. No moonlight either. After so many nights on this island, she knows a bad omen when she sees it.

Shivering but dressed, Maren crawls to the entrance to her home. She pushes aside the plant life that hides the shelter and immediately balks. The wind is impossibly cold. Whimpering at the sensation, Maren looks around incredulously.

“I’m hallucinating,” she mutters to herself, taking in the rolling grey clouds, the smell of frost on the wind that bends tropical trees to its will. Birds fly for shelter, struggling as if a hurricane fought against them. But this is not a hurricane. She murmurs, aghast, “It’s impossible!”

Then, she sees the stream freezing so quickly that frost gathers on the ground beside it, crawling up its shores. Like the ground itself is freezing. And more incredible still—snow.

Terrified and cold, Maren gasps, craws backwards into her shelter, groaning at the pain in her leg the whole way. _What the fuck is happening?! I’m near the fucking equator for fuck’s sake!! This is impossible!_ Had she eaten something hallucinogenic yesterday? But how, it would have been a twelve-hour delayed reaction at least! Is she just going mad on this island?! Had she somehow upset the spirits here in some drastic way by taking her sword back?? No explanation satisfies her. Maren breathes fast, curling in over herself in the furthest corner of her shelter.

Frost indeed forms along its floor and walls, but luckily the snow gathering overhead will provide insulation. Soon enough, she knows, her body heat will be enough to keep her safe. Knowing this and other means to survive a winter storm aside, Maren feels lost in her own panic. She shivers, unable to get herself to act, to make a fire or do anything useful for herself.

Several slow hours pass.

Her body exhausted by her prolonged anxiety attack, Maren reaches a state akin to rest. Everything still aches, including her belly at this point, but she finally feels like she could ignore the impossible happening outside and go back to sleep. Just as her brown eyes flutter shut, however, she hears a sound.

Ice.

A boot, solid, walking on ice.

_I’m near ice!_ Maren jerks awake, listening closely to her waking nightmare once again. When she hears more footsteps, she unsheathes her sword.

She’d heard the stories—those out here on the seas and the ones from back home. There was always an _explanation_ , a rationalization, and a warning. In this moment, Maren takes the meaning of _Ice Queen_ quite literally.

The footsteps come closer until they’re just outside her hiding place. Maren holds her breath, trembling, the sword shaking in her hands in front of her.

“There you are,” Maren hears.

Chilly air floods in and Maren shuts her eyes, instinctively wrapping her limbs around herself—except for her swollen leg. When she opens them again, the silhouette of the Ice Queen herself stands, elegant and wild. Behind her, the endless shifting white of the blizzard shines like a bright light in Maren’s eyes from her seat at the back of her self-made cave, makes her cry out and shield herself again.

“Stay back!” Maren snarls, looks up to find the woman approaching her, hands out. She tries to stand up but can’t. As her eyes adjust to the light, she notices ice crystals and snow swirling around those hands. Steeling herself and mounting all the rage she can muster, Maren holds her sword and hunting knife aloft. Chances are she’s about to be instantly frozen alive quite quickly—a way to die she never considered—so she might as well make it as clear as possible that she would fight. If she could. If they were remotely evenly matched. Accepting her fate, Maren’s hands steady.

The Ice Queen pauses just outside the reach of Maren’s sword, hands aloft. She snarls up at the woman, but she only glowers in return. Actually, she looks disdainful, or disappointed perhaps. Definitely cold and calculating. The vengeance and violence Maren expect aren’t in those storm blue eyes, however.

Outside, the wind dies down. Maren’s breath ceases to be visible. She blinks rapidly, confused—was it all a hallucination after all? No, the woman still stands above her, frost and flurries at her hands. Pursing her lips, a little to the side, and lifting her brow slightly, Maren searches her eyes for some explanation.

Standing above her still, her blue eyes glance down quickly to Maren’s leg. For a moment, she glares at Maren’s face, then looks round her shelter—she _looks away! What the fuck?!_ Maren thinks, keeping her blades aloft and even sticking them out a little further in confusion. She can’t move to attack, sure, but to let her guard down even a little?!

Sneering slightly, the Ice Queen scoffs, mutters to herself, “A life for a life.” Returning her cold eyes to Maren’s, she instructs, “Lower those.”

_What?_ “No.”

“Would you rather die?”

“No.”

“Then lower your weapons.”

“You lower yours.”

Blinking back a flash of surprise at Maren’s response, the Ice Queen quirks her brow askew. Somehow, it is the sexiest thing Maren has ever seen. But her blue eyes flash again, this time with… shame? She glares aside, lowers her hands. “Happy?”

“No.”

“Is that the only word you know?!”

“No… Bitch.” This time, the surprise lingers on the Ice Queen’s face a whole second, making Maren grin to herself. Maren continues, “What do you want?”

Her blonde brow lowers again, calculating something. “To help.”

Maren scoffs without meaning to, but keeps her eyes on the Ice Queen’s. “I think you’re the one that needs help.” Another flash, an ever so slight pinch across her features. Maren blinks back surprise this time— _Was that… pain?_ Before she can stop herself, she says, “You suck at surviving on your own out here.”

She crosses her arms. “You’ve watched me?”

“Don’t be flattered,” Maren growls. For some horrid reason, though, she’s pleased the Ice Queen knows _what_ she meant to insult. Not her powers, just her ineptitude. “This is the first time you’ve impressed me.”

Huffing with indignation, the woman takes one aggressive stomp Maren’s way, and she raises her swords higher. She stops of course, then takes a slow breath. Thereafter, the pirate’s face remains emotionless.

“Your leg is injured.”

“No shit, doc.” Maren sneers up at her. “I’m also marooned, if you hadn’t noticed. Thanks to you, as a matter of fact.”

No physical reaction, but Maren would swear on her life that passionate hatred pours out of the Ice Queen’s eyes nonetheless. “You spared my life,” she says simply, then raises her hands so her palms face Maren, again frosted and flurrying. “Why?”

Maren gasps. For a moment, she feels absolute awe at the beauty of it. Not the woman herself, although she is incredibly gorgeous, but rather the snow floating around her hands, beautiful fractals of frost covering each one. Then she shakes herself, glares up at the cold blue eyes again. “Because your incompetence was endearing, princess,” she sneers back.

“Excuse me?” she threatens.

“You’ve barely eaten all week!” Maren groans, rolling her eyes despite herself. “I don’t kill cubs or fawns, and I don’t kill people who are sleeping, much less starving to death anyway.”

“And you have?”

“Have what, pirate?”

This time, the woman above rolls her eyes, lowering her hands. “Eaten?”

“Handsomely, thank you,” Maren says. But the woman purses her lips and pointedly gazes upon Maren’s leg. She grimaces immediately.

“It would appear you’ve paid a price for that.”

“No, I paid the price of _you_ being a dirty, rotten, cheating pirate, princess.”

Frightening in her tone’s emotionlessness, she asks, _“What_ did you just call me?!”

_Shit, don’t call her that!_ Maren shrugs, hopes that’s enough to suggest that she doesn’t know about the more detailed stories from back home about this monstrous woman. So, she redirects, “Did you even eat anything before you came after me? Or did… whatever that was outside?”

Silence. After a solid minute of it, the Ice Queen at last speaks. “I am here to propose a deal.” With that, she sits, crossing her legs just in front of Maren.

“E-Excuse me?”

“Either we will both die on this island, from starvation or…” The Ice Queen glances briefly at Maren’s leg before continuing, “Well, starvation. Or we both live by helping each other. You spared my life, so I am obligated to return the favor. However, I am not so foolish as to offer you my aid without assurances to my own persistence on this planet.”

It takes Maren a moment to understand what’s being said to her, given she hasn’t held a conversation for a week now. “What aid could you possibly offer me? Surely you just killed every flying, crawling, and swimming thing on this island anyway!”

Snorting with disdain, she responds, “I assure you I did not.” The Ice Queen eyes Maren’s knife and sword, which have lowered considerably. “As for ‘what aid,’ I can help heal your injury.”

“W-what?”

“Your leg,” she says simply. Still emotionless, something about the Ice Queen shifts, opens as she goes on to say, “If I’m correct, you sprained your ACL during your escape on the beach. By using it continuously, it must be very near tearing if not torn already. If it _is_ torn, I do not have the tools at hand to repair it fully. However, if it is sprained and highly irritated, you can make a full recovery under my care.”

Her jaw slack, Maren says nothing. _What on earth is an a-see-el?_

Taking her silence in stride, the Ice Queen continues. “In return, you can instruct me in how to maintain sustenance for us both until we devise some way off this island. Meanwhile, neither of us will murder the other.”

Ryder’s face flashes in Maren’s mind. The woman sitting before her is absolutely right; they won’t survive except by working together. And then… very little hope of seeing Ryder again lives in Maren’s heart, but that very small amount is enough to live on. Still, she tightens her grip on the sword. “You could freeze me to death in my sleep and eat me.”

The corner of the Ice Queen’s mouth curls faintly. “I assure you, I do not dally in cannibalism. As it stands, freezing an animal to death and then defrosting it—” Her torso shifts, as if she’s containing a gag. “It proves inedible.”

Maren finds herself chuckling softly. “I keep the sword.”

“Why?”

“You could make a, uh, ice sword. An icicle sword.” Maren almost feels playful saying it.

Her eyebrow raises. “Very well. I have deadly ice magic, and you have a sword as well as excellent hearing. I’m certain you would hear me if I snuck up on you in the night.”

“And you would, wouldn’t you, pirate?”

With that, the tension mounts between them again. Sighing, the Ice Queen says, “Are the terms of the agreement to your liking?”

“For now, yes,” Maren says with a nod.

“Then we should sleep.”

“W-w-what?!”

“It’s nearly nightfall,” she tells Maren plainly. Then she lifts to her knees, skootches closer. “We should sleep… after I look at that leg.”

“Whoa, wait, you’re gonna sleep here?!”

Again, as if stating the obvious, the pirate says, “Yes. I shall work on your leg as an act of good faith and you shall not stab me as I sleep in this shelter, also as an act of good faith.” She lifts her brows at Maren, awaiting her consent.

Her stomach churns. She can’t trust this woman, but… the deal’s been made. Worrying on her bottom lip, Maren takes a few anxious breaths, looks at her leg. _I need help…_ At last, she meets the pirate’s blue eyes once again. Shockingly, she spots kindness there. “What’s your name?” she asks quietly, lowering the blades at last.

Understanding, the woman scoots closer until she kneels beside Maren’s knee. Without looking up, she replies, “Elsa.”

“Elsa- _AH!”_ Cold hands touch Maren’s leg, and she flinches rather obviously. The touch is so cold it hurts, but it’s deep, soaking into her flesh in a way that immediately reduces the strain and ache within. She moans, forcing her mouth shut as she watches pale, frosted hands work up and down her leg before resting at her knee.

Eyes closed to focus, Elsa quietly says, “What a mess. Another active day, and you certainly would have torn this—”

“But it’s not torn? Right now?”

“No. We can heal you, starting tonight. It will take more than a single night, however. You’ll need to rest for several days.”

“Days?!”

“At least.”

Regardless of her disappointment at the news, Maren can’t help a sigh of relief. The pirate could be lying to her, of course, but the leg speaks for itself. She already feels some better… even if the sensation also makes her squirm.

“Hold still,” Elsa instructs firmly, glaring at her.

In return, Maren pouts, closes her eyes, hoping that might help. Several uncomfortable minutes pass. “Are you done yet?” she asks through gritted teeth.

“As I said before, it will take _days—_ ”

“I mean for _to-_ day!”

“I’m not dignifying that with a response,” the woman mutters. “You should likewise remain quiet.”

Grumpy yet compliant, Maren leans back against the wall of the gully. She sighs, watching her leg. It remains entirely too swollen, but the growing numbness from Elsa’s iced hands outweighs the squirm-inducing sensations at least. To her best ability, she relaxes into it.

“What’s your name?”

Maren doesn’t respond.

Terse, Elsa says, “I asked you a question.”

“You told me to remain quiet.”

A freezing cold hand reaches up to Maren’s face, the back of it smacking her cheek. Or rather, taps. Nonetheless, she’s shocked, not only by the cold but by the audacity. And… oddly, the playfulness. Was it playfulness? Grumbling over her leg, Elsa mutters, “Honestly… worse than… home.”

“What was that?”

“What is your name?”

Their eyes meet. The tension changes in some way…

“Maren.”

The Ice Queen nods. “Very well, Maren. That’ll be enough for tonight, I expect. We should rest.”

“Actually, we should move,” Maren says softly.

Miraculously, Elsa looks even less pleased. “Why?”

She smirks, points up. Sure enough, the snow gathered on top of the leaves, fronds, and packed earth is melting, and muddy water drips down slowly upon them. Elsa huffs, waves her hand. Light from the sunset starts to filter in. For her part, Maren pretends to be unimpressed. “We should still make a better shelter soon. This was the best I could manage under the circumstances.”

“Great,” Elsa replies sarcastically. “We’ll be sure to give it two rooms.”

“Couldn’t you have… made…” Maren hesitates, biting back the word ‘goahti,’ just in case. “I dunno, an igloo or something for yourself?”

The Ice Queen pauses, and Maren notes it immediately. “I don’t cheat.”

“You’re a pirate.”

Standing up, Elsa relocates further away and sits back down, eyeing Maren dangerously. “All merchants are pirates.”

 _You would know, princess,_ Maren thinks. She doesn’t dare say it though. And, unfortunately, Elsa notices the restraint in Maren’s pause anyway, she’s sure. “What’s the real reason?”

“… We should sleep. Good night.”

“Fine,” Maren mumbles. She scoots down slightly, but stays angled up so she can watch the Ice Queen. Elsa. Her name is Elsa.

Noticing this, Elsa repositions herself as well, lifting her brow in challenge as she lays back against the gully wall. Over the course of the night, both women try to catch the other ‘trying something,’ often at the same exact time. Finally, though, they do each fall asleep… also at the same time.

☠️

“Nope.”

Elsa groans, offers another piece of wood—she thinks—to Captain Impossible-To-Please-Maren. She sits, angled, with her foot elevated above her injured knee, at a spot _she_ deemed worthy of a new shelter for them to share. But she also _deems_ that ‘teaching’ Elsa to make a fire is more important than making the shelter. Because Maren is all knowing, apparently.

“This is no good either,” Maren says, tossing the wood aside. She glares up at Elsa. “How are you alive? How are you a pirate sailing from… God knows where—” Elsa notices that pause, lifts her brow threateningly at Maren. “—and don’t know how to find anything to start a fire with?!”

Her lips curl in a delicate frown as Elsa stands from her position kneeling before the self-proclaimed queen of firewood. It’s hot and humid, so she’s already irritated. This Maren is nowhere near as grateful as she ought to be for Elsa’s help with her injury. And for some reason she keeps pausing as she speaks. As if her words were not in themselves frustrating enough, she keeps getting to an _edge_ , speaking in some condescending way— _As if_ she _has any right to be condescending!—_ and then not quite finishing a thought.

It is so aggravating!

“What the fuck do you want then?!” Elsa snarls, tossing every other useless piece of wood in her arms at the ground by Maren’s seat. The brunette startles at the act, which is the least she can do. She _should_ startle, she _should_ be terrified. For good measure, Elsa throws her coat off as well, leaving her in her trousers, boots, and _shirt_ —an article of clothing her _patient_ isn’t bothering with, just pants and some bindings instead of a brassiere—

“I want to know how your ass got this far without knowing shit about how to survive!” Maren shouts back, startling Elsa.

_Goddammit!_

Before Elsa can retort, Maren shouts more. “Every fucking sailor I’ve ever met, even the ones that can’t fucking swim, know how to find dry firewood, know how to start a fire, make a shelter, and secure safe food and water! If you were a sailor from my ship, I’d stand up just to kick your ass for this ineptitude!”

_Longest word you’ve said since we met_ , Elsa thinks, glowering. Without a word, she turns and walks. She ignores Maren’s shouts as she marches downhill.

After an hour, Elsa finally reaches the beach. There, she continues to walk until she finds the driftwood that swept in over a week ago while she sat on the beach. She grabs as much as she can, huffing and puffing the whole way. At last, she gets her bearings and starts climbing back up the island.

The way back up takes longer than the way down. She knew to expect this. So why does she doubt herself?

 _She tried to kill you on that ship,_ Elsa reminds herself. Over and over again, until she approaches the ‘camp’ where she left Maren. But she stops short when she arrives at the spot—where a stream leads off from Elsa’s pond, with a nearby cave. Maren limps around the skeleton of a shelter, using nothing but a walking stick to keep stable.

“What the hell are you doing?” Elsa snaps.

Maren looks her way, blinks a few times. “The job at hand?”

Elsa marches up to her, lowers her arms to drop her dry driftwood in front of Maren’s feet. Pursing her lips, she starts, “I told you that you needed rest! Sit your ass down and—!” She stops short. Maren’s eyes are fixed on the ground, on the wood that Elsa brought. Slowly, wincing and whimpering the whole way, Maren bends down, picks up boards.

Pieces of The North Wind. They can rest assured of that fact. Elsa made a point of picking out pieces that were obvious, mainly carvings and the mast… which any captain would recognize.

Watching her, watching Maren, Elsa becomes aware only of her stomach. That, and everything about Maren all of a sudden. The way her brown eyes search every detail of every dry, broken board. How no tears fall from her eyes even though they gather. Steady breaths, yet slow.

One piece, clearly part of the figurehead, rests in Maren’s trembling fingers. The walking stick falls. She won’t say anything. Elsa had been certain Maren would finally shut up… but right now, she wishes the woman would say anything at all. Her brown eyes look… different. Regret pools in Elsa’s stomach, heavy and acidic.

Sighing, Maren glares at Elsa for less than a second. Then she kneels, wincing and hissing in pain on the way down. Unsheathing her hunting knife, Maren starts carving out a notch in the wood.

“I…”

Maren’s glare returns, more confident this time, holds steady. “How may I help you, ma’am?” she says, dark and low.

Flinching, Elsa gasps. _My God,_ she thinks, realizing the depth of the pain she’s caused. She takes a couple steps back from Maren’s vindictive gaze. “I…” The guilt overwhelms Elsa so much that she collapses onto her knees.

“By all means, continue,” Maren says, pulling some kind of fibrous material from her pocket, some natural thing she gathered during all this time. She places it near the piece of wood she was chiseling, quickly forms a coned shape from other pieces of driftwood, then starts spinning a pointy stick in the chiseled hole of that first piece of The North Wind. Within less than a minute, there’s smoke, then sparks, then a cheerful fire.

With another glare, Maren grabs her walking stick, moves to stand.

“No wait, please!” Elsa says to her, hands launching up to stop her. Those brown eyes fill with suspicion, and now, Elsa can’t blame her. “I… I didn’t mean to imply…”

“But that’s what you’ve done, hasn’t it?” growls Maren, still kneeling. “Let… _others_ like me take care of you.” She shifts her weight again, leaning heavily on her walking stick.

“Maren!” Elsa hisses, lunging forward as the woman flinches, cries out in pain. She catches Maren, squatting beside her and wrapping her arm around Maren’s back and stabilizing her other side by grabbing the hem of Maren’s pants at her hip. “Goddammit, here, let me help you,” Elsa says without thinking about it, casting her eyes around them so she can decide whether to help Maren walk somewhere or sit back down.

The tiniest sound ricochets out of Maren’s throat, makes Elsa turn to her face to check for any pain. And there is something akin to pain on Maren’s face, but not the kind Elsa worried about. She blushes furiously, and suddenly it hits Elsa. That they had just been discussing how Elsa can’t do things for herself, yet apparently seeks to rub her privilege—that unearned ability to _not_ _need to know_ how to do things for herself because of her skin color—and now she is literally holding Maren up, offering help at her service.

This might not have been the best plan of action. _But there was no time!_ Elsa tells herself. She couldn’t have allowed her patient to do more damage to herself. _Although isn’t that exactly what you did by storming off instead of humbling yourself since she actually knows more than you do?_

“Can you, um,” Maren mutters, angry, interrupting Elsa’s thoughts, “Put me down somewhere? Anywhere?”

“Sorry, yes, of course,” Elsa mumbles, carefully standing up. She keeps her hand fisted around the waistband of Maren’s pants and slowly walks her to a spot a little further away. There’s a natural dip in the land where Elsa lowers Maren down, so her leg can elevate easily, naturally. Elsa swings around to face Maren, wraps her arms around her and eases her down.

When she lets go of Maren, Elsa realizes that she’s literally straddling the woman. And she is way too close to those brown eyes, those big, pretty lips, those reddening cheeks. “Sorry!” Elsa groans, standing abruptly. She bites her own lip against her own will, then marches over to the small fire that Maren started. Too embarrassed by herself to look back, Elsa pokes nervously at the small flame with a stick.

Behind her, she hears Maren say, “Give it more kindling.” Elsa almost turns back, but she remembers herself. She nods and obeys, shifts sideways so Maren can see the fire more easily. “Feed it some sticks, nothing too big,” Maren tells her, and for whatever reason, Elsa suspects she’s pointing at something. So, she glances back and follows the pointing finger.

The rest of the night, Elsa follows Maren’s every direction to build the fire and finish the shelter. When the sun sets, Elsa takes the lead, helping Maren inside and setting her up as best they can manage.

☠️

Elsa’s trousers are rolled up to her knees as she stands in the stream, her coat discarded, and the sleeves ripped off her airy shirt. Maren watches her from the shore, pondering the strap of the bra she can see under Elsa’s arm. “So you were a medic, ey?”

She snorts, says nothing.

“I asked you a question.”

Quietly, Elsa replies, “You’re supposed to teach me to catch these fish, not scare them off.”

“They can’t hear me,” Maren chortles. “Anyway, they don’t even know what humans are.”

“You _are_ scaring them off!” Elsa insists, appears ready to pounce.

“Don’t!” Maren instructs. Blue eyes glare at her, but the Ice Queen remains still as ordered. Watching her, Maren waits a moment. Inside, there’s some satisfaction she feels unexpectedly. On one hand, their lives lie in that woman’s hands and actions, and yet her absolute compliance with Maren’s instructions feels… good. Strangely intimate. _Maybe I could destroy her,_ she thinks darkly, dismisses the thought without guilt at the venom there. “Wait,” Maren says more quietly.

Taking a deep breath, Elsa relaxes. Then, she pounces, falls into the water, and their prey splashes away. Elsa rolls over, utters a wild, frustrated sound as she stands back up.

“You’ll get the next one,” Maren says. Nonetheless, Elsa stews obviously. “You got any siblings?”

Her face screws up, confused. And defensive. _Ah,_ Maren thinks. _Let’s get that out of you_.

“What’s it matter?”

“I’ve got a sibling,” Maren offers, watching Elsa carefully as she repositions herself a little deeper in the waters. It’d be easier for her if she agreed to use the ‘net’ bowl that Maren made, but since Maren can catch a fish bare-handed, Elsa insists on learning without the aid of a tool. “You probably met him.”

Silence. “Oh.”

“So, you got any?”

Elsa licks her lips. “One,” she says.

“Tell me about ‘em,” Maren says.

“How is this relevant?”

“If you killed my brother, I get to know things about you,” Maren barks, and Elsa sucks in her lips, widens her eyes. Clearly, she can admit that she agrees in silence.

“I have a younger sister,” Elsa grumbles.

“What’s her name?”

“Not your business.”

“Ey!”

“You haven’t told me your brother’s name!”

“But you know it, don’t you, pirate?” Maren allows her anger and resentment to boil a moment, just not long enough to take over her mind. She still needs to work with this Ice Queen.

“Er… Riley?”

“Fuck you.”

“Ryder, his name is Ryder!”

It’s not lost on Maren that Elsa doesn’t use the past tense. Like she wants Maren to believe, to hope, that he’s still alive. “Correct. So?”

Muttering, Elsa says, “Anna.”

“Was that so hard?”

She glances Maren’s way, annoyed.

_Good._ “How many of the stories are true?”

The blonde shifts, and now Maren can only see Elsa’s back, making it impossible to appreciate the bra through her wet, white shirt. Not that she minds much. It’s just nice to see signs of Elsa’s failures, like falling in the water while missing a fucking easy catch… To see her as human.

“What stories?”

“About the Jezebel. And…” Maren braces herself with a pause, says, “the ‘Ice Queen?’” Immediately, Elsa whips her face around, but Maren keeps talking, fighting back any fear. “I never heard about any literal ice powers, but the title is awfully prophetic. Is it coincidence?”

Elsa takes a couple threatening steps toward Maren, but Maren holds a finger up to her lips, and Elsa stops in her tracks. Fury rages in her blue eyes, but she still restrains herself. Watching her, Maren holds still under that gaze, fighting her. At last, Elsa relents, eyes flitting down to the water while her lips curl downward. _Good._

Suddenly, she lunges. Maren gasps. When Elsa rises again with a huge fish wriggling in her hands, Maren’s jaw drops open.

☠️

Over their fish dinner, Maren says, “You never answered my question earlier.”

Across from her on the other side of the fire, Elsa struggles with eating her fish with only her hands. “What question?”

“Which stories are true?”

Eyeing her fish severely, the Ice Queen growls, “What stories are there about me?”

Maren licks her fingers. “For starters, that you don’t leave any survivors. Seems a little odd considering you must have been a medic.”

Blue eyes rise to Maren’s face, not quite glaring but not far from that territory. “If there were no survivors, there’d be no stories.”

“No excuses, missy,” Maren grins, taking another bite.

She huffs, looks away. “I was a medic at first,” Elsa says quietly. She raises one of her hands, and Maren sees a thin frost cover it, stemming from Elsa’s wrist. Her tone remains icy as she says, “I had a natural talent, you could say.”

“Can’t have started out as a pirate, then. You learned from a doctor.” Elsa doesn’t respond. She’s such an enigma, Maren can’t make sense of her. “So, what happened?”

“I don’t see how this is relevant.”

“You’re my doctor, right? Shouldn’t I get to know your credentials beside your…” Maren stops short, nearly says ‘spiritual’ but catches herself. “Magical powers?” She coughs to shut herself up. And if the stories from home are true, how on earth did a… _princess_ become a medic? Let alone how a medic became The Ice Queen, captain of the Jezebel?

Picking a fishbone out of her mouth with a look of mild disgust, Elsa nods. “I suppose you have a point.” However, she doesn’t continue.

“I definitely have a point, so spill.”

Taking a delicate, deep breath, Elsa says softly, “I like to think I help people.”

A sarcastic sound escapes Maren’s mouth before she can stop herself.

“What?” the Ice Queen curtly asks.

Letting her face droop to convey the level of her disbelief, Maren simply says, “Pirate.”

“All merchants are pirates,” Elsa says. Again.

Rolling her eyes, Maren mutters, “You’d know, princess.” Stunned silence. Maren slaps her hand over her mouth, shocked at herself. Her foolishness. _Prepare to die, dumbass!_ she tells herself.

Hushed, barely containing fury yet again, the Ice Queen asks, “What did you just call me?”

Flinching, Maren glances at her swollen leg. It doesn’t hurt quite as much today, but it still looks… awful. Returning her gaze to her unfortunate partner on this island, Maren decides to say nothing because she already said what she said. Let her have the floor.

She narrows her eyes at Maren, body tense, like she’s ready to leap over the fire and strike. “What do you know?”

Deliberately obscuring her meaning with a shrug and plain voice, Maren responds, “Only stories.”

“Bullshit.”

“Maybe.”

At first, Elsa looks like she wants to say something. Then she settles back in her seat, poking at her food with a barely contained sneer.

“Speak, _princess_ ,” Maren teases. She’s offering to show her cards in this poker game. Elsa snorts, doesn’t look up. “I suppose,” Maren starts, pretending to admire the jungle around them and the sun setting through the trees. “You must be proud of being a pirate then.”

“I prefer to think of myself as a _captain_.”

“And I’m not?”

“I mean that I take—took—pride in taking care of my crew, in dividing things in equal share, only doing the… business that we all agreed upon.”

“And the lives of my crew were the ‘business’ your crew agreed upon? My brother’s life?”

“He might still b—"

“My helmsman then,” Maren challenges. “He was young, I was the first to hire him. He worked his way up, always hid some of his food to feed birds if we saw any.” Biting her cheek, she adds quieter, “And he had hazel eyes.” Indeed, the young man’s face flashes in Maren’s mind, open and aware of his inexperience and a little grumpy in the rain. Would she ever get to find his family?

Unexpectedly, misery crosses Elsa’s face. As quickly as it disappears, Maren nonetheless searches her face for more. She needs to know more, anything about the feelings there. Needs to find a way to be an ally with this woman. The other evening replays in her mind, the sudden kindness that swept Elsa up as she caught Maren’s falling body and sought her safety. How could this be the same woman who stormed Maren’s ship? Who destroyed it and dared to bring its broken body to her?

Then Elsa speaks, so softly that Maren almost misses it. “We never mean to…”

_This isn’t working_ , Maren thinks. She’s not getting the answers she wants, so she ought to try a different line of questioning. “Why didn’t you use your powers to overtake my ship?” The confusion on Elsa’s face in response is cute, there’s no point denying it. Thus, the slightest twinge of a smile underlies Maren’s tone of voice as she clarifies. “You know, shoot icicles through all our chests? Why didn’t you use your powers?”

A small, bitter chuckle comes out of Elsa. “I might not have shot icicles at you, but that storm didn’t come out of nowhere.”

Blood rushes in Maren’s ears. How suddenly cold she feels. “What?”

Looking away, Elsa says, “I don’t have the best control of my powers outside of… medical care. But I can take control of weather fairly easily, pull in cold fronts…” Seeing Maren’s expression, she adds, “Shooting ice seems like cheating.”

Maren rolls her eyes. “Throwing a storm at people at sea is _definitely_ cheating! Again, you are still a fucking pirate.”

Elsa retorts, “And so are you, trading—!”

“Saying that over and over won’t make your point,” Maren shouts over her. “My crew and I don’t go looking for people to kill.”

“You were transporting rum, weren’t you?” Elsa shouts back. “Rum, rice, tobacco, coffee, sugar—it all goes back to slavery, doesn’t it?!”

Maren snarls across the fire at Elsa. “And who the fuck started that?!”

The Ice Queen looks shocked. Her hand presses to her chest after Maren’s words.

“It sure as fuck wasn’t me and my people, was it?!” Maren adds, hammering the nail in the metaphorical coffin with gusto in her opinion.

Elsa rebuts softly, “Arendelle doesn’t allow… we outlawed…” Maren recognizes the admission immediately—Elsa taking credit for the legal actions of the crown. She _is_ the queen who ran off, effectively abdicating to her little sister the night of her own coronation. Little does she know just how close of a neighbor Maren has been to Arendelle.

“But Arendellians enjoy their coffee, their sugar, and their rum, don’t they? They don’t oppose their neighboring countries that abuse the indigenous peoples to the north, do they?” For her own part, Maren decides to appear as unfazed as possible, even though her body wants to shake with anger, with sadness, with conviction. And, strangely, with hope—she hopes that this woman gives her reason to trust her, against all the odds.

Admitting the truth more fully, Elsa breathes, “Why do you think I left?” She pauses a moment, then glares accusingly at Maren. “Who are you? Truthfully.”

“No one important,” Maren replies, matching her glare. “You on the other hand, you’re the princess that—”

Suddenly, Elsa stands, and a cold wind rushes the camp. “Do _not_ call me that if you value your life!” Inhaling sharply, Maren’s hand immediately moves to the hilt of her sword. She catches sight of Elsa’s eyes darting at the motion, pinching her lips as she contains her rage. Slowly, Elsa sits back down, the wind dies, and in return Maren returns her hand to her lap. Elsa hisses at her, “That’s _not_ a story anyone would know to tell around here. Who are you really? How do you know who I am?”

Thoughtful, Maren chews her food. Before she comes up with a response, Elsa speaks again—softly.

“You’re from the north, aren’t you?”

All Maren does is pause, briefly meet Elsa’s eyes once again, and the woman sighs knowing that Maren’s answer is yes. Memories of home, of Northuldra, flurry in Maren’s mind. Of her brother, their parents, reindeer, the elders, snow. Until very recently, Maren hadn’t seen snow in years.

A light, airy chuckle pulls her back to reality. Elsa faces away, a bitter smile on her face as she considers the land and sea around them. “There will be no convincing _you_ then, I expect,” she says, quietly.

“Convincing me of what?” Maren asks.

But Elsa stands suddenly, walks around the fire to Maren’s side and holds out her food. “Do you want the rest?”

Balking, Maren looks at Elsa like she’s crazy, insists, _“You_ need to eat that.” Although yes, Maren would like to have a double portion, her part in their bargain was keeping Elsa alive. “Eat your fucking food.”

Rolling her eyes, Elsa places the ‘plate’ on the ground beside Maren and walks toward the new shelter—a lean-to guarding the entrance to a cave. “I’m not hungry,” she says. Then quietly she adds, “Call for me when you’re ready to move.” Maren watches her retreat into the cave, then considers the unfinished food. She’s not about to let it go to waste, but still…

☠️

“Maren, wake up!”

She can feel herself thrashing wildly, and suddenly she’s also aware of muggy air, of slight differences in the darkness. Maren pants as she slowly recognizes the white streak of hair—Elsa. “Wha… Did… You…”

Pressure at her shoulders, gentle. “Lay back down,” Elsa’s voice instructs.

“But—!”

“Lay down.” It’s an order. For a second, Maren panics, breathing quickens further. Then—“It’s okay, Maren. You’re safe, you’re fine.”

A hand rests lightly on her shoulder. Her breathing evens, slightly. Elsa’s features appear more clearly as her eyes adjust to the darkness. An instant after her panic subsides, though, Maren growls in pain, reaching for her leg. “Aurgh!”

“You were thrashing in your sleep,” Elsa says. “I didn’t want you to injure yourself further. I’m sorry, I know waking to pain can be disorienting.”

“A bit!” Maren says through clenched teeth. She drops her head back, against the earth beneath her, swearing under her breath.

The hand remains on her shoulder, taps her gently. “I… May I offer some… uhm, help?”

“Sure,” Maren sneers, not that her face is visible but her belittling tone should do.

Seeing as Elsa is not completely oblivious, she replies coldly, “You were having a nightmare. Now hold still.”

Ice cold touches—no, inserts into—Maren’s throbbing leg. She contains a pained groan as best she can, but she does remain motionless at least. A glow rises, and Maren’s eyes focus on it naturally. Elsa’s hands float less than an inch from Maren’s leg, a white-blue light surrounding them. Blinking rapidly against the light, Maren recognizes Elsa’s face above her in a little time. During the moments that pass in silence, her face shifts from annoyed to still, calm, even… reassuring as she glances Maren’s way.

“What were you dreaming about?”

“Colonizers,” Maren says. It’s a lie.

Instead of the scoff she expects, Maren hears a light, airy breath—almost a chuckle. In the dim light, Elsa meets her gaze. Recognizing her, Elsa says, “Don’t think you’re the only one who dislikes that _type_.”

“Type?”

“My time,” Elsa says, followed by a pause. The cold around Maren’s knee goes from medicinal to uncomfortable for a second, but she says nothing. “Arendellian colonies were disbanded long before I came close to the crown. My time was not a mere night, as some rumors would suggest… but I did forcibly outlaw them before…”

The temperature changes again, and Maren cannot contain a grunt. Immediately, the temperature around her knee returns to something tolerable. Once she relaxes, she returns her gaze to Elsa, and she looks like she’s expecting some kind of challenge. “Before what, pirate?”

“Before I decided what very specific kind of merchant I would not leave alive.”

“Excuse me?”

Although Maren can’t really see it, she can tell Elsa rolls her eyes as she says, “The rumor was true in a way. When my ship attacked slavers’ ships, we left no slavers alive and returned ships to port—people aren’t cargo, and cargo made of slave labor should not be sold.”

Something stirs in Maren. But what proof is there of these claims? “Is that why you killed my crew?”

Elsa takes a deep breath. “More or less.”

“What?” Maren cannot help her indignation.

“It’s like you said,” Elsa admits. “Even a place like Arendelle gets rum and sugar from these West Indies. So my ship… did attack merchants of… colonial products, and—”

“That’s everybody,” Maren snaps. “Literally anyone with a ship on the Atlantic.”

“And I recognize that,” Elsa insists.

Grimacing, Maren feels Elsa’s hands press directly against her leg, the treatment intensifying. “And?”

“And for the most part we did not… leave ships like yours without survivors. What happened…” She sighs above Maren. Although she refuses to give her eye contact to Elsa right now, she can sense Elsa seeking her eyes. “I am very sorry. Your ship…” Again, Elsa sighs. “My crew and I were mistaken, and because of that we destroyed your ship and… at this rate, I will not be able to stop any more slavers.”

At last, Maren’s eyes return to Elsa. The last words she said… Maren realizes that Elsa holds back tears during these words. Although she says nothing in response, Elsa remains at Maren’s side, working on her leg. For another hour, they remain in silence. And, thankfully, Elsa does not burden Maren with her tears.

☠️

Elsa insists on daily ‘healing sessions.’ It’s getting old… mainly because Maren feels obligated to lie.

“What do you miss most about home?

_Snow,_ Maren thinks. “Freedom.”

Lying is fine. If you’re lying to a pirate.

Maren glances up to see if the lie stuck. Elsa’s disbelieving glance cues her to say more.

“I never had to… ‘go shopping’ growing up,” Maren starts. “My people had no shopping, no jobs, no _money_.” With a daring glare Elsa’s way, she continues, “Not that we ever satisfied your taxmen. I mean, while I was growing up, my people, we… We had everything we needed—each other and nature. I could do things I liked that helped my people, my community. And we had the resources around to do it.”

At first, Elsa says nothing in response.

“That’s why I do… well, not this island shit, but what I was doing before. My brother and I sent whatever funds we could home to help pay taxes.”

Still nothing.

“Don’t tell me you dislike shopping.”

“Considering the usual sources, yes,” Elsa assures her, glaring at Maren’s injured knee in the humid sunshine. “I dislike shopping.”

“What do you like then? Maren asks. “What do you like?”

“I only like chocolate,” Elsa says, with a hint of a smile in her voice—although not on her face.

“That would require shopping.”

With a shift of her hands, Elsa silences Maren, who grimaces against the cold. “We must make do with certain evils.”

“Indeed,” Maren says, eyeing her carefully. “You think I’d transport rum if I had a choice?” The cold becomes so unbearable—for only a split second—that Maren gasps, hisses at it, flinches. Then, just like that, it stops entirely.

Standing up and crossing her arms protectively, Elsa mutters, “That’s enough for today.” Without saying anything more, she walks away, leaving Maren by the pond with her leg propped up.

“Where are you even going?” Maren calls after her.

No answer.

☠️

_General Mattias reaches through the blizzard she’s caused. Her crying lessens, but the snowfall doesn’t._

_“Your majesty!” he shouts, pulling her close. The hug both terrifies and reassures Elsa. He protected the life of her father, then he was her own closest bodyguard, even against her own regent. But now this man has come from the south to woo her sister, and all secrets are out on the table._

_She huddles close, shuts her eyes. How can THIS be her coronation day?!_

_A sound—a pained groan. Elsa looks up. Horrified, she recognizes the agony on General Mattias’s face_. _Only then does she see the tip of a blade sticking out of his chest, even cutting her own shoulder. Horrified, she holds him as they fall to their knees._

_“Elsa,” he groans. His last words, even quieter, echo through her mind for all eternity as the visage of Hans, gleefully raising his blade above them both: “Run!”_

\---

“Mattias!” Elsa shrieks. It’s dark in the shelter, her chest heaves for breath. _Nightmare,_ she tells herself. _Just a nightmare._

“Elsa?”

Although she knows she told Captain Maren of The North Wind her name, it sounds so… odd to hear from that voice, that it immediately brings Elsa back to the present. Back to reality. Where her mouth is muttering words that aren’t whole, aren’t real, despite herself.

“Elsa!”

It’s Maren. “Mm… M-Maren?”

Silence… for a moment.

“I’m… I’m here.”

Some kind of shifting sound, a grimace. “Hey!” Elsa bites. “Hold still!”

“Well what do you want?!” An annoyed voice. Rolling her eyes, invisible to Maren, Elsa thinks, _That’s not new._

“Nothing from _you!”_ she growls back.

Surprisingly, Elsa hears an eye roll in return. “Of course not. Deal with it. You woke me up, why the fuck did you do that,” Maren growls, turning sarcastic, even babyish: _“to your sweet patient?”_

“Ugh!” Elsa snarls. The shifting sound starts again. With less aggression, Elsa says, “Stop, please. Don’t move, you’ll… you’ll only hurt yourself.” Her eyes have been adjusting during all this time, and now, the vague shape of Maren pauses. She’s lifting herself on her arms, driving herself backward while looking back over her shoulder at Elsa. Dragging her legs behind her, moving them both as little as possible.

“Shut up.”

Elsa scoffs, but says no more.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Elsa says. “Leave it at that.”

Maren sighs. “Fine.” A thump—she lays down.

“How’s your leg?”

“Fine.”

Although she pauses, although it’s dark, Elsa feels herself flinch faintly at Maren’s tone. She raises her hand, and glowing snow flurries around it. The light illuminates Maren from head to toe, faintly but… satisfyingly. With the sudden change in lighting, the woman huffs, looks back at her with distinctly dark eyes. Not dark because they’re enticingly dark brown—dark because they… dislike her so.

“Filth and lies,” Elsa grunts, kneels next to Maren.

“It’s ‘filthy lies,’” Maren corrects, crossing her arms. She won’t look at Elsa beside her, glares at the cave wall beside her. Why does that hurt?

“Shut up,” Elsa whispers back. Then she gets to work. Maren, the captain of The North Wind, grimaces, groans, inhales sharply… then relaxes. Slowly. Somehow, inexplicably, it’s the most beautiful process that Elsa has ever seen.

☠️

“So, princess—”

_“Don’t_ call me that!” the Ice Queen hisses.

Maren merely grins. No—smirks. “Just consider,” she offers, _“not_ standing there.”

Standing waist deep in the ocean, the woman groans loudly. “What is wrong with here?!”

_This is too easy._ “You are never gonna catch ocean fish in this lagoon anyway, if you—”

Thrashing and splashing. Maren sits perched on the beach, watching the Ice Queen’s temper tantrum, random shapes and sheets of ice shooting from her hands as she does so. Once she’s standing in the water, huffing and puffing in place, Maren calls to her, “Are you done? Playing expert on all the things?”

Panting, Elsa growls, “Shut… up…”

This time, as a kindness, Maren remains silent. Mainly to enjoy the view without interruption. She knows she’s wearing a white shirt, for goodness sake.

☠️

“You know,” Maren calls from inside the cave. Elsa rolls her eyes, readying for some snide comment. She drops the supplies that she found to repair the lean-to that protects the cave mouth, starts working. “The other day, you made those sheets of ice.”

“What are you talking about?” she replies flatly.

“Maybe,” Maren drags out. “You could make something from ice for the shelter.”

“It’d melt in an hour,” Elsa says gruffly.

“Do you know that, or do you just think that?”

Leaning over to glare into the dark, Elsa asks, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing!” Maren insists, and despite the shadows, Elsa can see her holding her hands up in surrender. “It seems like you could build stuff with your powers, that’s all.”

“It’s a curse, not power,” Elsa grumbles under her breath.

“Huh?”

“Nothing!”

“Okay, fine!”

Silence rages between them, interrupted only by Elsa, clunking branches against each other to make a structure that Maren will surely complain about when she sees it from the outside. _You could leave her in there all day,_ Elsa reminds herself. She doesn’t _have_ to carry the woman in and out of the shelter, help her with every physical need. _You will not do that,_ she chastises herself, shame creeping in. _She is your patient, and her injury is your fault. All of this is your fault._

“Are you sure it would melt, princess?”

Elsa sees red. She jumps to her feet, messy hair falling in her face as she marches into the shelter. “Do you want a demonstration!?”

Fear. She sees it plain as day on Maren’s face. What surprises Elsa, with her hands raised and flurrying, is how quickly the woman recovers. “Yeah! Make it a bet! I bet if you ice that…” Maren pauses, her face squirming uncomfortably in the moment she glances at Elsa’s construction job. But when her eyes flash back to Elsa, she’s all determination, all spitfire. Even knowing the state of her leg, Elsa half expects her to jump up herself and push Elsa. “Ice that thing, I bet it’ll stick for longer than an hour. Shit, I’d bet you could make way better, but let’s start with that.”

“Bet what exactly?” Elsa answers coolly.

Maren’s eyes widen, her mouth pouts slightly. It’s an undeniably pleasant visage, makes her wonder what Maren would look like begging. “What, like for real?”

“A bet without stakes isn’t a bet.”

“The sword then.”

She is so instantly astonished by Maren’s stakes that she spits out some unintelligible sound, even takes a step backward. Although Elsa composes herself as fast as she can once she realizes how stunned she _obviously_ looks, Maren’s eyes gloat up at her. “Your sword? Really, you want to lay your life on the line?”

“What else do I have to bet?!” laughs Maren, incredulous. “My shirt’s so gone, I doubt you _want_ chest bindings or underwear—”

“Ugh!” Elsa gasps, offended. No, disgusted. (Not disgusted, but she’ll tell herself that.)

“All else I got are pants and boots. The sword’s the only thing worth betting!”

“That’s betting your life, you fool!”

“Not if you don’t want it to be.”

Elsa blinks back surprise. Maren says it so simply. Her face is neutral, plain, like it’s obvious that a sword doesn’t symbolize their rivalry. Or that it does but… Like she… _trusts_ Elsa. The amount of power and control she thinks… suggests that Elsa has…

 _Fool,_ she thinks, feeling self-loathing bubble in her stomach. Bitter, she outstretches her hand behind her, lays out a thick ice sheet that interlaces with the construction of the lean-to. She says only, “Agreed.”

To Elsa’s utter shock, the ice never melts. And Maren keeps the sword.

☠️

“I’m so sick of fish,” Elsa groans, her belly nonetheless full.

“You’re telling me,” Honeymaren agrees, chuckling. Grimacing, she adds, “You’re probably sick of living with one, too!”

Although Elsa does barely laugh, as Maren desired, she gets a curious look in her eye. “Do… you want help?”

“Help?”

“I mean,” Elsa says, her voice quivering. “Do you want help taking a bath?”

“What?” Maren asks, dumbfounded.

That’s how it starts.

Then it turns into Elsa insisting.

And Maren cannot stop blushing. She asserts that Elsa does not need to do this on top of healing her and feeding them both and everything else it takes to stay alive on this fucking island. But it’s no use; Elsa’s gotten the idea in her head that she’s neglected Maren by not bathing her regularly. As if it wasn’t bad enough that Elsa had to assist her to and from their designated ( _Uuuuugggggghhhhhh!)_ ‘bathroom’ twice a day. Now, here she is—being carried. Across Elsa’s shoulders.

“Not much further,” Elsa huffs, sweating in the midday heat with one arm over Maren’s leg, and the other arm twisted round Maren’s arm.

“Please put me down,” Maren asks. Again.

“If you had told me you took issue with your hygiene situation,” Elsa says, breathless, “I would have done something sooner.”

“You really don’t have to.”

“You are my patient.”

“That doesn’t mean sponge baths!” Maren groans, hands flying to her face as she covers her embarrassment the only way she can.

“Who said anything about sponges?” Elsa says, each word barely coming out.

“You know what I mean!”

“Would you be more accepting,” Elsa scolds, “if I say it’s because I can’t stand your stink anymore?”

“No!” Maren groans. She sounds like a child, and she knows it. But something in her refuses this… _It can’t be kindness,_ Maren tells herself. She can’t _fathom_ that Elsa could be kind outside of their arrangement for their survival. “I never asked for this!”

Stopping in her tracks, Maren sees Elsa’s face curl in unbridled rage only a second before the pirate shouts, “Would it kill you to accept a helping hand, you stubborn brat!”

_Okay, shutting up now…_ She watches Elsa strive to contain herself from this terrible, awkward angle. If it weren’t her problem, she’d think it was hilarious. As things stand, the words make no sense, make the awkward all the more painful. _All Elsa does is help me_ , Maren thinks. But something tells her to keep her mouth shut right now.

Elsa shuts her eyes, bowing her head slightly, brow furrowed. If she wasn’t holding Maren up, she would definitely be cradling her face, her fingertips touching her temple, her thumb at her cheek or chin. When she raises her face again, she glances coolly at Maren. Quietly, she says, “We are doing this.”

Maren nods. “Okay.”

When they reach the stream, they both utter soft groans, small ‘wait’s and ‘hold on, okay okay’s as Elsa carefully returns Maren to the earth. Once Maren is safely on her seat, Elsa retreats into the trees. She can hear her stop not far off, leaving Maren alone to contemplate her situation. Should she undress here and climb down the final paces to the clear, fresh water flowing by? Her hand rests lightly on her thigh. Nervous, she moves it up to her knee, gently squeezes. Still swollen. Still aching, especially if she tries bending it. After all this time… Perhaps because Maren keeps _not_ asking for help. How was she even going to get her pants all the way off on her own?

“Hey, uh… Elsa?” she calls, her sad brown eyes staying fixed on her leg.

“Maren?” she hears back.

“Um…” _I hate this,_ she thinks, takes in a deep breath and lets it out through her teeth. Nonetheless, she shouts, “I could use help getting i-into the stream.”

Soft, to herself perhaps, she hears Elsa utter, “Oh.”

“Could you—?”

“Yep.” The unmistakable sound of Elsa’s stride follows until it’s right behind Maren.

She doesn’t look back; she feels too miserable to look at Elsa right now. Maren’s eyes fixate on her hands, each one clinging to the other.

“You didn’t undress,” Elsa comments.

“I—!” Maren starts, but her voice cracks with emotion, so she has to stop. Her hands cover her wincing face, afraid she might cry in front of _her_. She takes a deep breath, needs to finish her thought to save face, but now her chin is trembling and why the fuck can’t she keep herself in check right now?! “I couldn’t get these pants off on my own if I tried, I just need to… Need…”

“Okay.” Elsa walks closer, Maren can hear her, but she doesn’t even peek up at her. Not until she hears Elsa kneel beside her and she says, “Leaves are nice here.”

Maren looks up at that, first at the trees above and then at Elsa. Her blue eyes are fixed on the canopy above them, don’t even flicker at Maren. They stay upward, unbothered, as Elsa reaches out. Finding Maren’s shoulder, Elsa trails her fingers down Maren’s arm to her wrist, jumps blindly sideways to her hipbone. She flinches her hand away at first when she touches Maren’s bare abdomen, then settles, finds the hem of her pants. The whole time, Maren’s gaze darts from Elsa’s hand to her face.

Not once does Elsa so much as glance her way. In fact, she turns her face toward Maren’s boots as she takes hold of the hem of her pants with both hands, pulls them down Maren’s legs. They sweep off so smoothly, the boots gently removed in the same movement, that Maren knows instantly that Elsa has done this before. That she’s helped a ‘patient’ in this manner previously. Even though she knew Elsa was a medic at some point, it never occurred to Maren to think that she could be kind to people at their most vulnerable.

Her thoughts are interrupted as she’s suddenly lifted into the air. She inhales sharply, one hand fisting in the back of Elsa’s shirt. Looking up, Maren sees that Elsa _still_ isn’t looking at her. Or rather, she’s looking past Maren’s feet, walking sideways toward the stream. Realizing it at the last minute, Maren yanks off the undergarment keeping her breasts in check and throws it on dry ground.

She’s roughly placed in the stream, making her yelp. Elsa stands hurriedly, marching away before Maren can even look at her. “I’ll wash your clothes,” she calls over her shoulder. Doesn’t look back. Stunned into silence, Maren returns her gaze to her legs.

☠️

Elsa peeks. Not on purpose. She got herself a little lost after her swift retreat with Maren’s clothes. Since she needed to wash the clothes, it didn’t seem like a big deal at first. But once she was done, Elsa realized she wasn’t certain where she’d come from. But she knew Maren would be upstream.

Walking along the shore, neverminding the ankle-deep water racing over her boots. Carrying the clothes absentmindedly… She starts to sing to herself. It’s the most natural thing to Elsa, to keep herself company with some song, something she knows from the sea or from once upon a time or whatever comes to mind in the moment. This habit of singing to herself has reasserted itself while fending for Maren and herself—when she has been alone, leaving Maren at camp while she does something strenuous. Today, an old folk song comes to her. Something her mother taught her. It’s not a love song, per se, and in fact Elsa remembers her mother singing it as a lullaby. But in that odd way that childhood memories turn, she likes to think of it as a love song between wind and sea. Both are ‘hers’ in the song, and she always liked that.

Next thing Elsa knows, she’s only fifty yards from Maren. And, somehow, even at that distance she sees more than she should. Gasping, she spins on the spot, blushing, a hand leaping to her mouth.

And _goddammit!_ One blip of a glance and she knows: Maren is gorgeous.

Distantly: “Elsa?”

She clears her throat, eyes widening—caught! “Maren?” Elsa shouts back with as much disinterest as she can muster.

There’s a pause. Maybe she just wanted to check.

“Were you singing?”

From this far away, Elsa doesn’t stop her head from falling into her hand, where she shakes her head at herself. _God-fucking-dammit._

☠️

“So wait,” Maren asks at dinner, chuckling. “You _never_ sang with your crew?” She’s in good spirits. It hadn’t occurred to her how disgusting she felt because she hadn’t been able to wash. And despite needing help, her privacy was maintained. In the last week, their shelter has upgraded thanks to Elsa’s magic (and Maren being right about it), as has every aspect of their lives. Her fish is served on a plate of ice, unharmed by the steam rising from the meal. Well, maybe not a plate per se, but a flat surface. Plus, the fact that the Ice Queen aka Princess of Arendelle aka Doctor Elsa sings—really really _really_ well—makes this whole stranded-on-an-island ordeal so much more bearable than usual.

“No.” Elsa does not seem half as pleased as Maren.

“‘No,’” Maren says in a mocking tone, happily stabbing another bite with her fork (that she carved). “Well, in the future, you should sing in front of other people.”

Elsa’s eyes swim almost immediately, tears springing so suddenly that it frightens Maren. Then, she realizes what she said, what she implied: That they’ll survive and get off this island. It’s more hope than she’s ever expressed out loud to Elsa—or herself. The doctor clears her throat, wiping at her eyes with the palm of her hand. Gruff, Elsa asks, “Are you done?”

“Uh…” Maren looks down at her food. At the remains, actually—she inhaled the food. “Yeah?”

When she looks up, Elsa glares at her. No, not a glare, but the look is intense. “Then you’re ready for another session.”

“What? No!”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Fine!” she groans, rolling her eyes. As Elsa not-glares at her, kneeling by her injured knee, Maren smirks at her. Not even the doctor would bring her down tonight. But strangely, Elsa says nothing in rebuke. She sets to work immediately, her hard gaze at Maren’s knee, only stealing quick glances at her face. It makes Maren… _want._

☠️

_Maren’s leg is dead. She knows it, can see how blue and black it’s become through her clothes—which doesn’t make sense, but remains horrifying nonetheless. Dragging it behind her, Maren crawls through endless mud. Somehow the earth beneath her, the earth of her home, is shedding water, thawing in some way. Around her, a battle, just like when she grew up. But her people weren’t warriors. They sought the good of nature and the survival of their people first and foremost._

_She’d heard the stories. Centuries of servitude and abuse by the power-hungry, violence-obsessed Vikings, only to be followed by the nords, the saxons, everybody._

_They didn’t stand a chance. Bodies of her family—blood and community alike—fall all around her, until she’s climbing through the bodies._

_Horror overwhelms: Maren is climbing her own body, dead among the countless others beneath her._

_“Maren!”_

_Spinning in place, Maren seeks the voice’s source. She stands now, all on her own. “E-Elsa?”_

_“Maren!”_

_“I’m coming!” Maren cries. She runs through the trees—not on the island, back home—unencumbered by her injured leg or snow. If anything, she runs faster than she ever has in her life. “Where are you?!”_

_“Maren,” Elsa shouts again. Closer. Why is that scary?_

_“Elsa!”_

_Silence._

_Why is it quiet?_

_“Elsa? Are you okay?”_

_Nothing. It’s getting dark._

_“Elsa!? Where are you?!”_

\---

When Maren screams herself awake, she’s alone. Looking around the cave, spotting nothing but her own self, she doesn’t understand. “El… Elsa?” she calls. Quietly. A little afraid of waking her if she’s around, and afraid of the silence that could await her.

No answer. Her eyes adjust to the dark—Elsa’s not here.

Thunder crashes nearby, and Maren yelps with fear. It sounds like a canon, or gunfire. She hadn’t even realized it was raining. The layer of ice to the shelter has made hearing things outside more difficult, perhaps. Listening deliberately now, Maren recognizes a strong gale blowing by, and torrential rain. More lightning. Then thunder.

Unable to restrain her panic, suddenly faced with unexpected aloneness, Maren whimpers, drags herself back deeper into the shelter. She curls up, terrified as a child. “Elsa, where are you?!” she croaks.

It isn’t that she hasn’t had this kind of dream before. But she’s used to it ending with Ryder, and he always shows up. Never before had it been someone else. And for it to be _Elsa_ of all people… but worse—far, far worse—that she isn’t _here!_

The weight of everything that’s happened sinks into her chest. Maren can’t handle it, can’t hold it, can’t withstand it anymore. Somehow, it’s cold—but not in the way that Elsa makes it cold, to relieve unbearable heat and humidity or pain. This cold is a threat, is seeking to do harm. Shuddering against it, Maren cries tears she has held at bay too long, convulses around herself. Confused, emotional, alone.

☠️

Standing under the protection of a rocky outcrop on the beach, Elsa huffs impatiently at the rain. Foraged kindling and firewood rest at her feet, protected from the elements between the rock and Elsa. She’s tempted to do something about the weather, but if she’s honest with herself, she doesn’t know for sure that any efforts of hers would disperse the rain. Almost all of her meteorological experience involves creating storms or fog, not moving them along. What’s more, a thought that sounds like Maren gnaws at the back of her mind, saying that she could negatively affect their access to fresh water.

_Maren… hm… She must be bored out of her mind, too._ Elsa chews on her cheek, considering her feet. She’d like to get back to Maren as soon as possible. The weather hindering that goal irritates her. Because she’s bored. And has tasks to do.

Living a life without shopping requires quite a lot of extra work to survive, and unlike Maren’s rosy memories, Elsa does not find much fun in it. As Elsa’s finger taps against her crossed arms, which attracts her hard eyes’ gaze, she contemplates it. Perhaps, she concedes internally, when only one person of two is able-bodied enough to work, it isn’t a fair comparison to a whole community helping each other.

She’s still bored though.

Which gives her an idea.

Her finger stops tapping. She raises it in front of her, floating above the palm of her other hand. Biting her lip, Elsa moves the finger as though drawing an upside-down U. The first time, she just moves the finger, doesn’t pull on her powers. After a cautious breath, she makes the move a second time, concentrating. Elsa shushes her own gasp as her finger creates a small dome of ice that falls into her palm, rolls. It looks like a tiny bowl.

It is decidedly the most complex item Elsa has ever created. Deliberately so. Perhaps ‘creating’ a storm ought to feel more powerful, or maybe she ought to have more pride in improving their shelter. Yet here she stands, mesmerized by a tiny bowl, created by her intention and not any chaotic reaction.

Elsa closes her fist around the bowl, then raises her arm. Brimming with pride, she waves her arm above her, creating a large protective dome. Through nothing more than a flick of her wrists, the ice dome floats above her. She beams up at it, delighted. Then her gaze turns sly. She picks up her supplies and starts traipsing back up the island toward camp, eager to see Maren’s reaction.

In fact, she makes rather short work of the journey despite the burden she carries. If anything, Elsa relishes the exertion of climbing uphill with the supplies, charmed by her own handiwork. Not even the flashes of lightning or rolling thunder slow her down. As she passes by the pond, a visible pep enters her step. Or it would be visible, if not for dark clouds rendering midday as dark as night. Regardless, Elsa knows the way from the pond back through the trees to their shelter with or without the light, none of which can take away from the fact that she has arrived dry by her own ingenuity.

“I have a surprise for you,” Elsa shouts ahead of herself as she ducks into the shelter with her dry supplies. She grins over her shoulder as her dome leans against the shelter, shutting them in so well that she can barely hear the rain outside. However, the moment Elsa turns back inside, she knows something is very wrong. “Maren?”

Through the dark— _Why isn’t there a fire going?_ —Elsa spots Maren’s silhouette, shivering far at the back of the cave. She flurries her fingers, using the glow to look further in. When the light reaches Maren, Elsa pales at the sight of tear-stained cheeks. “Maren!”

Brown eyes at last turn her way and register. “Elsa!” Maren cries. Truly cries, and hearing her, Elsa rushes forward to her side.

“Maren, are you all right? Did something happen?! How’s your leg?” Her hands reach out for Elsa, and she obliges without a second thought. Maren crumbles against her chest, gasping for air as she falls apart. Fisting the thinned fabric of Elsa’s shirt, Maren presses her forehead against her chest, but she says nothing intelligible. She wraps her arms tight around Maren, starts rocking her slightly, unsure of what else to do but suddenly terrified on her behalf. “It’s okay, it’s all right,” Elsa soothes, tightening her embrace as Maren sobs, only slowing slightly. “I’m here, you’re safe, it’s okay.”

The arms pulling on the front of her chest move round to her back, clinging tightly to Elsa. “Elsa!” Maren whimpers, “You were gone, I couldn’t find you!”

Although she knows there must be more to it than that, Elsa doesn’t press the point or ask questions. Maren appears physically okay, although finding her in this state makes Elsa want to immediately get a closer look at her leg. But she’s witnessed more than her fair share of panic out on the sea. She has experienced it herself. Elsa says, “What’s important is that I’m here now.”

Driven to comfort her, Elsa presses a kiss to Maren’s brow as she holds her. A deep, shuddering breath responds. She realizes how threadbare her shirt has become as she feels Maren’s eyelashes flutter against her collarbone. Slowly, as she feels Maren’s body relax against her, Elsa also recognizes heat prickling at the vulnerable edges of her body. It occurs to her that she doesn’t want to let go of Maren at all, and her hand’s caress across Maren’s back lengthens. Elsa bites her lip, shuts her eyes, allowing herself just a moment longer.

With a small, decisive nod to herself, she leans back and says, “We should check on your leg.” She lets go of Maren, holds her hands out, floating between them. Maren’s hands flinch, almost as though she means to place her hands in Elsa’s, until Elsa speaks again. “You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to. Would you like to rest longer—tap this hand—or get started now—tap this one?”

She can feel Maren’s eyes on her. So, Elsa doesn’t look back. Instead, she keeps her eyes on her own two hands and waits for Maren to choose. At last, she spots Maren’s hand landing on Elsa’s left palm. Her spine shivers at the brief touch, wonders if she imagined Maren’s hand lingering or not, touches her finger tips together.

_Shake it off, Doc,_ Elsa tells herself. “Would you like to stay inside or go outside?” she asks, lifting each respective palm. Maren reacts readily, and her hand definitely does not linger this time—not that it did before. Inside. “Would you like to stay in this spot or move somewhere more spacious?” Move. “And may I offer assistance in moving you, yes or no?” Yes. “All right. Are you ready to move, yes or no?” Maren’s hand flickers in her sight, and Elsa expects another yes.

However, her hand hesitates, hovers above her own. Elsa blinks back her surprise, quirking her brow only a touch. Maren’s hand tracks toward the ‘no’ option, then returns, settles on the ‘yes.’ Before she can withdraw, Elsa clasps her hand. She’s careful not to hold Maren too tightly, so she has the option to retreat. Nonetheless, Elsa must insist on an honest answer, and at last she glances up at Maren’s face.

Internally, she shudders at the beauty there. Even in pain, tested by elements and injury, and eyes puffy from tears, Maren is beautiful. Still, Elsa hopes that Maren doesn’t see her admiration. “Are you sure?” she asks seriously. Maren nods once. “Okay,” Elsa grunts, shifting her eyes back toward the entrance to their cave. With a sweeping look, she plans how to best move Maren safely, and in relative silence, she begins.

☠️

Maren sits quietly, watches Elsa walk to the entrance and check outside. “The rain has mostly stopped,” she reports. “The sun is out.” _Sunshine sounds good,_ Maren thinks, her mind having settled in the silence Elsa gave her. When Elsa approaches, she takes note of Maren looking past her. “Would you like to go outside after all?” Elsa asks, her face and voice perfectly neutral. She squats beside Maren and holds her hands out again. “Yes, or no?”

Shrugging, she taps the ‘yes’ hand and turns her attention to Elsa’s face, awaiting instruction so she can be moved. Unexpectedly, Elsa kneels beside her with a lively look in her eye.

“I want to try something,” she tells Maren conspiratorially. Maren scowls anxiously, trying to read Elsa’s face. Despite her immediate reaction, though, she keeps her hand off her sword and her knife. Elsa wiggles her fingers in front of her, shakes her wrists out, then proceeds to draw a shape in the air. At first instant, nothing. Then something cold underneath her. Less than a second later, Maren yelps as something lifts her into the air.

She gapes down—a reclining seat made of ice raises her into the air, even with Elsa’s raised hands. “Whaaaaaat?!” Maren drags out, stunned into speech.

Beside her, Elsa punches the air. Apparently, her idea worked.

“How’d you do that?” Maren asks, then coughs. All that crying irritated her throat, she realizes, thinking she ought to ask for something to drink.

“You need water?” Elsa asks, expressionless again. And yet, she can practically read Maren’s mind.

Taken aback, she mutters in response, “Uh, yes. Please.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, Elsa walks to a far wall where they’ve collected supplies over the weeks. “I tried something earlier, and managed to return sooner rather than wait out the storm. I’ll show you outside,” Elsa says over her shoulder.

 _Thank goodness you did_ , Maren thinks. She feels embarrassment bubbling in her stomach, but also comfort in seeing how calmly Elsa handled… her.

“You do so much around here,” Elsa remarks.

 _Huh?_ She looks curiously at Elsa, kneeling by a large, lidded bowl. Maren recognizes that she weaved it of palm fronds and other fibers, coated it carefully to make it water tight. Then Elsa stands, carrying a ladle—that Maren carved—full of water. At Maren’s side again, Elsa holds the ladle up to Maren—instead of handing it _to_ her—and the look in her eye is so kind and gentle that Maren momentarily forgets… everything.

The wanting hits her again. Watching Elsa’s face for any change, any hint of her enemy, Maren nonetheless drinks the water. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Elsa says matter-of-factly. She returns the ladle and moves her arm. Maren startles again as her icy perch moves, following Elsa outside of the shelter. Outside, the sky glows pink and purple. The drenched landscape glows with reflections of the sunset.

Then Maren sees a giant ice bowl thing, leaning over their shelter entrance. Pointing, she repeats herself: “Whaaaaaat?! Did you make that?!”

“I did,” Elsa says, and Maren detects a ring of genuine pride. Then she adds, “Don’t try to butter me up, I’m not holding back if you hurt yourself.”

 _Ah, there she is again_ , Maren thinks, rolling her eyes. But she smiles a little, too.

What she doesn’t expect are Elsa’s next words. Lowering Maren’s icy settee to the ground, Elsa says, “Let’s clean you up first.”

“Huh?” Next thing Maren knows, Elsa produces some neckerchief from her long-abandoned coat and starts to gently rub away the tear streaks on her face, then the dirt she got on herself during her panic.

 _Oh… fuck._ Arousal hits her like a punch in the guts, surprising her entirely. Maren senses that her jaw has dropped open slightly, yet no words come out. She doesn’t resist or shy from Elsa’s touch, but her skin tingles everywhere she touches. Studying Elsa’s face, Maren feels her want tremble, gathering lower and lower in her body.

Elsa stops, looks into Maren’s eyes, then down at her lips, and stands up. As she walks back into the cave and returns without the neckerchief, Maren watches. Did she really see that glance at her lips or did she imagine it?

Once more, Elsa kneels beside her, this time next to her injured leg. But instead of the medical approach of diving right in to the healing session, Elsa’s hand floats above her leg. Staring at her own hand, Elsa asks, “Yes or no?”

Feeling weak, Maren utters, “… Yes.”

Just like she always does, Elsa removes Maren’s boot, meticulously rolls up her pant leg, and examines her knee—still swollen, but nowhere near as much as before—tsking at the scrapes Maren inflicted by accident. Yet, somehow, it’s nothing like how Elsa always does. Not to Maren.

Ice crystals and snowflakes materialize around Elsa’s hands and she gets to work. Maren does not complain once. In fact, the entire session passes in tense silence. When Elsa’s done working, the flurries dissipate, but her hand remains on Maren’s knee. Light.

Her voice strangely low, Elsa asks, “Yes or no?”

Strangely soft, Maren whispers, “Yes.”

A low, short moan comes out of Elsa, and Maren gasps as she both sees and feels Elsa’s grip on her leg tighten. Ocean blue eyes rise, slowly raking over Maren’s body until they connect with her stunned gaze. Wild lust storms in Elsa’s eyes, making Maren’s jaw drop again. Neither of them move though, and Maren’s brow dips in confusion and concern. Elsa looks askance, and now it’s clear to Maren that she’s been holding back for some time—she’s in too much control for this to be a sudden whim. “Are you sure?” Elsa asks, slamming her eyes shut.

All Maren wants is every inch of her. Quivering with desire, Maren lays her hand on top of Elsa’s, pulls on her wrist. Elsa’s eyes flash open, turning to face her, and Maren instantly knows that she’s unleashed something rough and thrilling.

Elsa surges forward, crashing her lips against Maren’s, and she whimpers immediately. The touch is electric, as is the sudden accompaniment: Elsa’s hands grab her bare shoulders, presses her weight down against Maren’s chest, and strands of platinum blonde hair slip from Elsa’s braid, tickling Maren’s face. Shock gives way to arousal, and Maren reaches for Elsa’s waist to pull her closer.

Although Elsa doesn’t pull away, she resists Maren’s pull, groans against her in a sloppy kiss. She does pull her face away, sucking at Maren’s bottom lip until it pops free. Her eyes simmer down at Maren, who gulps in air. Elsa’s fingers trail up her neck, hold her face, gentle yet firm. “Understand that you are not in charge right now,” Elsa husks, and it is gut-wrenchingly sexy. “You’re not to injure your leg, so you will do as I instruct. Yes or no?”

 _Shut up and kiss me again!_ Maren thinks, smirking up at her. “Is that an order, princess? Oof!” Elsa presses Maren down—her reclined seat of ice abruptly flattens. And softens. Right now, paying careful attention to the woman holding her down and straddling her seems much more important than questioning the change. Even if it is a bed of snow.

“Do _not_ call me ‘princess,’ or I swear—” growls Elsa above her, returning a hand to hold Maren by the chin.

“Yes ma’am,” Maren mumbles automatically.

She screws up her face into a disgusted frown, making Maren snort. Elsa grumbles, “Don’t call me ‘ma’am,’ either.”

Scoffing through deprecating grin, Maren protests sarcastically, “Well what the fuck do you want me to call you, your lofty and fucking mighty highness?!”

To her surprise, Elsa raises her brow, silenced. Then, more surprising yet, a blushing smirk inches its way across Elsa’s face. “‘Your highness’ will do.’”

Maren feels her eyes widen, stunned. In return, Elsa seems to size her up, expressionless again—the doctor. “Yes,” she begins again, and Maren feels her breath shudder out of her as Elsa relaxes her grip, runs the back of her hands down Maren’s chest. “Or no?”

Breathless, Maren replies, “Yes… your highness.”

“Better,” Elsa praises. Want floods Maren’s pants, and she yelps all the more for it when Elsa yanks her torso up by the cloth wrapped around her breasts. She presses her lips to Maren’s again, forceful but deliberate.

Whimpering against Elsa’s lips, Maren wraps her arms over Elsa’s shoulders, getting out of the way as she undoes Maren’s bindings. Before the cloth reaches the snow spreading around them, her hands are upon the soft flesh of Maren’s, massaging roughly enough that she knows her skin will redden.

“Ah! Mm!” she bites Elsa’s lip in response. Elsa pushes her down onto her back again, and one hand catches the back of Maren’s head to protect it from the crashing motion. In that moment, Maren lets go. This isn’t her usual, not by a longshot. Pleasuring dainty barmaids, charming rebel women, and just one time a very disgruntled nun—that’s much more her speed during her life on the seas. Even before that, Maren preferred to take the lead with the sweet, funny, beautiful women she grew up around when she still lived in the north.

But nothing is normal right now. Right here, right now, all she wants is to feel safe. And she knows that, for whatever reason, Elsa is exactly what she wants.

Above her, Elsa reaches into Maren’s hair, pulling it loose while watching Maren’s chest heave with blazing eyes. As she raises her pale hands to her paler hair, Maren reaches down to undo her own belt. Immediately, Elsa’s hands return to hers, grabbing them roughly to stop Maren. “Stop that,” she rumbles.

“No, no look,” Maren insists, asserting herself. She raises her eyes to Elsa’s, hoping she’ll comprehend what she means as she tells Elsa, “I need to do this.” Elsa exhales sharply, a frown tugging on her lips and brow, but she pauses.

Taking advantage of the moment, Maren maintains their eye contact as she undoes her belt and starts pulling it off—including the sheathed sword. Although she continues to watch Elsa’s eyes, the woman above her eyes her hands, darting to the sword every other second. Unsurprisingly, Maren feels Elsa tense, holding Maren down with her hips, until at last Maren tosses the belt and sword away from them both. Elsa gasps softly, returns her gaze to Maren’s face.

A moment of silence passes between them. Then Elsa looses her own hair.

With new vigor, she returns her hands to Maren’s skin, pressing up from her bare stomach, making her moan. They run up Maren’s arms and grab her wrists. Following their tracks, Elsa kisses up Maren’s body as well, leaving a trail of bites and hickies. Her breathing stutters the closer sweet lips get to her chest. But as she feels Elsa grind down against her hips, Maren groans loudly.

“Did that hurt?” Elsa asks, immediately checking Maren’s face. When she furrows her brow with confusion, Elsa adds, “Your leg?”

“No,” Maren says, shaking her head. Enthusiastic, she lifts her shoulders and head off the ground, bends her uninjured leg. “No it didn’t, do it again. Ah!” She jumps, surprised but unharmed by Elsa slapping her cheek. Reflexively, Maren jerks her arms to touch her face, but Elsa keeps hold of them, holding her arms above her head.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Elsa says, grinning slightly. She tilts her head, and somehow, her voice ripples with both tenderness and smirking disdain as she instructs, “And what did I tell you to call me?”

Maren licks her lips, wriggling slightly. “Technically, you didn’t—”

Another slap to her cheek, followed by a gentle caress. Maren feels Elsa’s hips jerk of their own accord— _She’s getting off on this!_ —but she’s clearly holding back. And Maren doesn’t want that. She wants Elsa unfettered.

“Your highness.” But she sneers as she says it, flexing her arms and body against Elsa’s weight, a subtle reminder that if she really wanted to, she could absolutely rein her in.

“Don’t move,” Elsa orders, abruptly standing above Maren. She can see Elsa’s hardening nipples through her shirt in the light of the sunset, can see the seams at the crotch of her pants, and she groans into her own arousal. Her groan lengthens as Elsa undoes her own belt, but then she lowers over Maren again. Instead of taking off her trousers like she expected, Elsa wraps the belt around Maren’s wrists. It’s loose, Maren realizes as Elsa tugs at it experimentally, but the buckle is cinched.

“Seriously?”

“The more you move,” Elsa lectures, “the more likely you are to hurt yourself again. Now, would you like to fix your mouth or do I need to abandon this enterprise all together?”

Unsure what that means and decidedly _not_ interested in Elsa stopping, Maren demurely utters, “Yes, your highness.”

At long last, Elsa returns her hands to Maren’s ribs and lowers her mouth to her neck. Their exchange gave Maren a chance to catch her breath, but as Elsa’s hands sweep over the peaks of her chest, it heaves out of her lungs again. Elsa presses her hips down against Maren, then shifts backward, holding her thighs down. With more room to work, she sweeps her hair over Maren’s torso, hooded eyes fixed on Maren’s face and chest. As she wedges her hands under Maren, reaching into her trousers and grabbing her ass, Elsa lowers her lips to her sternum. Maren groans, dropping her head back, overwhelmed with heat. Best she can, she tries to hold still, but her muscles fire, spasming, begging for more.

However, once Elsa’s spent her limitless time dragging her lips and tongue everywhere and at long last wraps her lips around one of her nipples, Elsa’s touch intensifies so much that Maren sees white. She groans loudly, her voice cracking at the waves of pleasure already hitting her. “Fuhuck, aah!”

She should have known that, now that Elsa was here, she wouldn’t leave anytime soon. Long minutes pass with Maren trying her best to contain herself, trying to not question the intense pleasure she’s receiving, trying to bear the tautness of every nerve between her legs. More than once, Elsa leans back to admire her, and Maren thinks surely the teasing is over, only for her to switch her breast of preference. Or run her fingers through Maren’s hair—under her beltline.

Eventually, she sits up, and through the haze of her mind, even Maren can tell that Elsa is breathless. Licking her lips, Elsa sits back on her calves, careful to hold herself above Maren’s legs. Panting, she pulls off her shirt. Maren whimpers, wants desperately to touch Elsa, but the strength of her need far exceeds anything she wants. She desperately _needs_ Elsa to finish her off.

Although she leaves her own pants on, Elsa takes hold of Maren’s. With all the caution she’s regularly shown regarding Maren’s injury, she removes Maren’s trousers from her fully. Exposed to the air, Maren shudders, keens at any sensation she can get at her center.

“Are you cold?”

Blinking rapidly, trying to remember herself, Maren shakes her head. “N-no. Erm! Majesty!” Elsa ignores her error, examining her. But unlike her usual medical mask, Maren sees her large pupils, her swollen lips, her unsteady breathing. Eager for aid, Maren curls her back off the ground, something she surely won’t get into more trouble for… right?

Elsa reacts immediately. For a split second, she widens her transfixed eyes. And without warning, she dips her head into Maren’s center, licks up across every fold, stiffening her tongue as she ends the pass at Maren’s clit. Her sob at the satisfaction startles Elsa though, and she lifts herself again. Turning her desperate, begging eyes to Elsa, Maren whimpers. Then she moans at the sight of Elsa’s body flushing.

“I—” Elsa starts, then shakes her head, glaring down at Maren, as if she momentarily forgot herself. In any case, Elsa straddles Maren’s stomach again and kisses her, pushing her tongue past Maren’s lips without hindrance. The taste intoxicates Maren almost as much as Elsa’s moaning into her mouth. As they both relish in the depth of their kiss, Elsa’s hands gently lift Maren’s arms.

When Elsa pulls her lips away, Maren blinks her eyes open, fuzzy at the edges at the sight of Elsa’s earnest smile. She brings Maren’s bound wrists down over her head, then positions herself lower over Maren.

On all fours, Elsa glances upward once more, searching Maren’s face. She stays searching for long enough that Maren asks quietly, “Are… Your highness, are you all right?”

Elsa smirks, softly. “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Maren whispers.

She bends low, arching her back for Maren to see, returns her lips to her chest. Leaning her weight to one side, Elsa drags her fingers down her torso, and Maren’s already whimpering. When Elsa’s fingers pass through Maren’s curls and lay flat against blazing folds, she cries out, knows she’s soaking immediately. Without any preliminary work necessary, Elsa sinks one finger into Maren. They both moan roughly. Elsa even whimpers, gasping as she easily sinks another finger into Maren without a single hitch.

Maren can barely breath. It’s all so slick, so easy, so aflame.

Still, she should have known by now that Elsa would take her time. Her mouth lowers once again to her chest, and the thumb of her penetrating hand sweeps firm, slow circles around Maren’s clit. With impossible patience, she curls her fingers against Maren’s flesh.

Lewd, senseless sounds ricochet out of Maren. No matter how erratic her breathing gets, no matter how much her body clenches around Elsa, no matter how obvious it is that Maren’s crashing, reaching greater and greater heights, Elsa maintains her pace and movements exactly. Until Maren can’t even tell when one orgasm ends and another begins.

After a minute or an hour or a day for all Maren knows, she feels Elsa pause, panting deeply on top of her. “Yes,” she huffs quietly, hot breath on Maren’s neck, “Or… no?”

“Yes,” she replies immediately, barely louder than a whisper.

Lifting her head with a drunk smile, Elsa says, “Okay, one more.” She kisses Maren’s neck gently, but her hand starts again. To Maren’s utter shock, the break was what she needed. Elsa drives into her more forcefully now, circles her clit with greater speed. “Ye-ess!” Maren sobs with delight, even as Elsa brings her soft kisses to the corner of her mouth. “Aahyes!”

☠️

Sunshine beats down on the beach. Maren watches Elsa walk across the sand ahead of her, hair floating freely through on the breeze. Her shirt flows freely, too, untucked. She looks back over her shoulder, looks Maren over. “Your gait looks good from here,” she calls.

Smiling, Maren shrugs, puts her hands in her pockets as she walks along behind her. “You should see the view from here!” she shouts back, pretending to watch the ocean instead of Elsa’s reaction.

“Don’t get cocky.”

“I don’t have one, so…” Maren smirks broadly when Elsa whips her head around at her. She runs toward her all so she can lightly smack Maren with the back of her hand. Unbothered, Maren laughs, grabs at Elsa’s arm playfully.

“Maren!”

Grasping her wrist at last, she pulls it down toward her own hip. Elsa loses her balance, falling into Maren’s embrace. Smiling at Elsa’s blush, Maren quips, “Weren’t expecting that were you?”

Elsa stands upright swiftly, flattens her shirt with a flushed and frazzled, “Hmph!” She turns on her heel, all set to storm off.

Biting her lip as she smiles, Maren jogs alongside her. “Just wait,” she says with a wink. “You won’t be able to _overpower_ me for much longer!”

Scoffing, Elsa growls, “I don’t overpower you.” Then, “But I _easily_ could.”

“Not in a fair fight,” Maren teases, nudging her with her shoulder. She drops her gaze to their bare feet, admiring the flawless beach. But she finds her eyes drawn to Elsa’s hand, resting on her crossed arm.

“Bullshit,” the doctor grumbles.

“Oh, come off it!” Maren teases, nudging her again. “We’ve already had a ‘fair’ fight—except it wasn’t because _someone_ had to make mother nature her bitch.”

“Tuh!” Elsa’s lips pinch as she glowers across at Maren.

_Too easy_ , Maren thinks. “If you didn’t want to deal with this much teasing, you shouldn’t have set your sights on topping a top and then tenderly nursing me back to health.” She’s certain by the look on her face that Elsa sees red. A slight chill to the air suggests as much.

“You—!” she snarls at Maren’s grin. However, instead of teasing her back, Elsa marches away, snapping, “Just stay there so I can… evaluate your leg!”

First, Maren thinks, _She was going to say ‘assess.’_ To which Maren definitely would have made some suggestive, teasing remark. Second, she watches Elsa’s hand drifting away, and she dislikes that fact immensely and immediately. Although she pauses at Elsa’s unexpected response initially, she jogs after her. “Hey, hey wait!”

Elsa stops, but won’t look at her. It hits Maren with an unanticipated pang in her chest. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Elsa lies. After a month of raunchy escapades, two months (or more, it’s hard to keep track) of joining forces—no, of Elsa confessing to needing help and offering her relentless medical care in return—Maren knows it’s a lie instantly. So she does something outside their dynamic, but something very true to who she is.

She runs the back of her hand from Elsa’s shoulder to her elbow, until her fingers brush against Elsa’s where her arms cross. Gentle but firm, she inserts her hand until their fingers interlace and tugs, pulling apart Elsa’s guard with tenderness.

Except for in the throes of their sexual escapades—during which Elsa has always administered to _Maren’s_ desires only—or during careful medical attention, they have never held hands.

As Maren expected—no, hoped—Elsa stares at their hands. She looks stunned. ( _As much as Captain Expressionless can look stunned_ , Maren thinks.) Despite herself, Maren catches herself staring at Elsa’s lips. For once, she wants to kiss her without any erotic motivation behind it. Leaning in, she tells her, “You know, I can tell when you’re lying.”

Elsa scoffs. But she does look up. Her shoulders relax slightly. Almost imperceptible, she intones, “I know it’s all my fault.”

Genuinely baffled, Maren goes, “Huh?” And not quietly.

That confused response makes Elsa blush. She doesn’t let go of Maren’s hand, but her body closes around herself. For a few minutes, she doesn’t say anything intelligible as far as Maren is concerned. Certainly, she listens to the many false starts, the attempts to explain how everything ever is Elsa’s fault, how she doesn’t deserve whatever, and yet Maren ignores it all quite actively.

Little by little, she presses forward, assured by Elsa’s stasis despite her words of self-blame. Until Maren at last presses her lips to Elsa’s, firm but gentle. “Stop,” she says lightly, then again, pleading. “Stop, don’t… Don’t say those things. I don’t want you to, I don’t want… I’m not some pity… mercy project, okay? And neither are you, understand?”

A small sound escapes Elsa’s throat, and she throws her watering eyes askance. Another pang hits Maren hard. “Els,” she prods. Her free hand reaches up, brushing away a tear. “I mean it, don’t… I… I care about you, too. And I never want to hear you say ‘it’s all your fault,’ ever again, understand?”

Her blue eyes shut tight, wincing almost, but Elsa’s free hand lands atop Maren’s on her cheek. When she opens her eyes, Elsa looks as vulnerable as an injured snowbird, and yet she rushes forward. It’s a chaste but lingering kiss… Maren finds herself wrapped in Elsa’s arms even as she wraps hers around Elsa.

Before much longer, Maren finds herself on her back, reclining against a dune in the sands. Only because Elsa insists, for the safety of her leg. She straddles Maren again, decidedly in charge even though this time is different.

Maren touches her tenderly, admiring how freckles stand out on Elsa’s skin after all this time in the sun. And how little tendrils of ice flash across Elsa’s skin after Maren touches her there. Already, Elsa’s breathes fitfully. “Are you nervous?” Maren asks.

“No,” Elsa answers automatically, too quickly. Her brow furrows for an instant, and her shoulders sag slightly. “Yes,” she admits.

“Don’t be.”

“That’s my job,” teases Elsa, gently.

“What is?”

“Reassuring,” Elsa says, watching Maren’s reaction as she tucks her hand into Maren’s hair and pulls her head back, exposing her neck. Maren sighs at the pleasure and pain, savoring the way she drags her teeth against the skin of Maren’s neck, followed by swift, soft kisses.

However, this time Maren lets her hands roam freely, roughly dragging over Elsa’s shoulders, her arms, her ribs, her waist. She releases her mouth from Maren’s throat, and they make a point of catching each other’s eyes. Maren lifts her brow, as if to ask a question as her fingertips dip under the beltline of Elsa’s worn trousers. The blonde’s body rolls slightly as she nods.

Humming to express her gratification at the consent, Maren pulls Elsa’s shirt up, quickly tosses it aside. Her hum turns into a full moan at the sight of Elsa, sitting pertly on her lap, absolutely perfect breasts peaked and pebbled in eager anticipation. Unwilling to make her wait, Maren sits up, leans forward, pressing her lips to Elsa’s neck. Elsa sighs softly with each kiss that pleases her, and even gasps audibly when Maren’s hands glance across her bare chest and torso.

Then, her fingers claw up and down Elsa’s back, certain to leave red-hot trails in their wake. Elsa drops her head back, throwing her arms lazily over Maren’s shoulders. For now, Maren doesn’t complain. After all, the point right now isn’t to ‘top’ but to feast, to prove her loyalty is born from genuine affection. But that doesn’t mean Maren can’t express some objection.

One hand leaps from Elsa’s back to her hair, fisting it and pulling it taught. Elsa makes a surprised, guttural sound, and Maren eats it up. She licks up Elsa’s sternum, pulling tightly enough on Elsa’s hair that it might hurt even as her other hand pointedly reaches under the hem of Elsa’s trousers. A whimper escapes her, delighting Maren, but she releases her grip on Elsa’s hair and ass. Proving that she could get that whimper out of Elsa was her only point—a promise, of sorts, that however her leg recovers and whatever happens next, she could return pleasure as much as she received…

Maren smiles as Elsa rushes, pressing demanding-yet-needy kisses to Maren’s lips, jaw, and neck. Maren returns in kind, and moans lightly as she takes Elsa’s hands and rests them at the edge of Elsa’s own pants. Immediately, she stands up. After she removes her trousers and stands over Maren again, pure unadulterated hunger fuels Maren. She grabs Elsa’s legs by her calves, then her thighs, pulls her forward.

For the first time, Maren sinks her lips and tongue into Elsa’s center. It’s the first time she’s _seen_ Elsa with her trousers off. Above her, Elsa whimpers again and frequently, digging her fingers into Maren’s hair once more. As far as Maren’s concerned, she hasn’t tasted anything so delicious in years.

Suddenly, Elsa sinks to her knees with a gasp. At first, Maren worries that she’s crossed an unstated line, or that she pushed Elsa too far in some way, and she freezes. Then Elsa grins fiendishly. Maren can feel herself smirk knowingly in return. Without further ado, Elsa forcefully grabs Maren by her bicep and pulls. Her other hand again grabs her hair, pulls her forward, until Maren’s lips crash against Elsa’s chest. She mutters, “Your majesty.”

Elsa moans loudly as Maren’s mouth finds her breasts. Her body shakes as Maren roughly grasps her hips and forcefully rakes her slick heat against Maren’s own hips. Before much longer, her fingers trail inward, playing with thin blonde curls just above Elsa’s apex. She gasps above her, whimpers only barely. Maren bites her lip and pauses, turns her gaze upward.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Elsa nods, says, “Please.”

Right now, Maren’s in no mood to tease. She throws a supportive arm round Elsa’s waist, grabbing at her ass with that hand, and rubs her other hand across Elsa’s clit and slick folds. A shocking cry comes out of Elsa, making her bow her head until it rests on Maren’s shoulder.

As turned on as she is by the erotic majesty atop her, Maren strives with all her might not to move her leg. Nonetheless, she drives her fingers into Elsa, moaning at the slick arousal coating her hand anew with each thrust. Then, to her utter amazement, Elsa wraps her hand around Maren’s active shoulder tight, forcing her to stop as she digs her nails into Maren’s flesh.

“What’s wrong?!” she asks urgently.

Elsa presses a single finger to Maren’s lips. “I didn’t say you could talk.”

Smirking, Maren concedes. “Your majesty.”

A soft breath escapes Elsa, hinting at a chuckle. Then she groans—she thrusts against Maren, driving herself down upon Maren’s hand. She repeats the motion, then again, and Maren cannot stop the drawn-out whine that climbs out her throat. “Elsa!”

Loud and uninhibited, Elsa begins, “Mar—”

However, she herself squeaks as a hand grabs her by the back of the neck and yanks her forward into a messy, full-throttle kiss. Maren, knowing how vulnerable she’s about the be, claims entrance to Elsa’s mouth and takes it at the first, slightest allowance. Her tongue sweeps over Elsa’s, demanding and powerful until Elsa pulls back.

“Maren, what—?”

“Call me Honey,” she husks, still holding Elsa’s face close to her own. Just once, she thrusts her fingers deep into Elsa, making her keen. Making her relate ‘Honey’ with pleasure.

“H-Honey?”

“That’s my name,” Honeymaren says, letting her voice crack. “Honeymaren, that’s my name.”

Elsa whimpers, sinks back on Honeymaren’s fingers. And again. Again and again and again. Above Honeymaren, Elsa whines with each thrust, “Honeyhoneyhoney!”

“Elsa, oh god,” Honeymaren cries, the back of her penetrating hand a little too perfectly positioned over her own groin.

“Honey!” Elsa whimpers again. She grabs Honeymaren’s free hand and moves it over her own breast, clasps that hand to her chest. Once Honeymaren starts massaging her, keeping at least one finger over Elsa’s taut nipple, Elsa lowers her hand to her own clit. Rubbing at herself mercilessly, and Honeymaren gasps at the sight.

Snow begins to fall around them.

“E-Elsa…”

“Mm!… Honey!” Elsa cries. Tears glisten at the corners of her tightly shut eyes as she sinks deeper and deeper into Honeymaren. “Fuck!” She begs, “N-Not enough ple—!”

“Majesty,” Honeymaren growls. She presses her lips to Elsa’s neck and sucks hard. Elsa cries, then sobs as Honeymaren carefully pushes another finger into her slick, hot center. Grabbing Elsa’s hip forcefully, Honeymaren lifts and lowers Elsa upon her fingers a few times until the woman atop her chokes back sobs and thrashes into oblivion. With her head dropping back, her spine arching with impossibly spread legs, it’s the most erotic thing Honeymaren’s ever seen.

Especially considering those chocked sobs include repeated prayers, “Honey, h-honey, hon-aaah!” A single tear flows down Elsa’s cheek. Honeymaren surges forward, kissing the tear away before it reaches her jaw, leaving her wondering if Elsa has ever allowed someone to please her at all.

Sand sticks to Maren’s body pretty much everywhere. Completely worth it. Elsa collapses upon her, shaking and clenching around Maren’s fingers still.

However, as she whispers sweet _somethings_ to Elsa, she realizes that her lover is distracted. “Hello to Elsa?”

“Sorry, sorry!” the blonde insists, returning her gaze to Maren’s brown eyes. “I just… Do you see a ship over there of is it just me?”

She sits up abruptly, taking a yelping Elsa up with her, her body still recovering from her high. Looking out at the sea, Maren sees it immediately. “That is definitely a ship!”

“Really?” Elsa asks, her breath still labored after her climax. She looks out at it again. Glancing anxiously at Maren out of the corner of her eye, she says more quietly, “It… It looks like…”

“It’s the Jezebel!” Maren shouts. She threads her fingers into Elsa’s hair at the back of her neck and pulls her in for an impassioned kiss. Suddenly, she stands, and Elsa yelps yet again as she’s pulled up to her feet. “Quick!” Maren says, “Signal them!”

“With what?” Elsa asks incredulously.

“Snow magic, obviously!” Maren eagerly encourages.

However, a dark look crosses Elsa’s face as she leans against Maren for support. “Those people,” she says cautiously. “That… I don’t think that’s my crew.”

Fear grips Maren’s chest immediately. Yet, as she peers at the ship, she can’t help a sense of familiarity as she watches distant people move about on deck. At last, she realizes.

“THAT’S MY BROTHER!” Maren shouts, astonished and delighted. “That’s my crew!”

“They—?!”

“RYDER STOLE THE FUCKING JEZEBEL!” Maren announces, smiling from ear to ear and nearly shaking Elsa with her enthusiasm. She sees a flash of doubt cross Elsa’s face, though, so she surges forward. Wrapping Elsa’s nude body up with as much of herself as she can, Maren at last whispers in her ear, “Just wait until we get to fuck in a proper bed.”

Elsa hisses, and Maren laughs when Elsa throws her arm up into the air, shooting an icy firework into the sky that will surely catch the ship’s attention.

**Author's Note:**

> Ryder: What... the fuck... happened?
> 
> Maren: (wrapped in a blanket) Fucked girls tell no tales
> 
> [I 110% give credit to @Superamy777 for that bit]  
> \---  
> Hope you enjoyed! This was a little outside my usual, so hopefully it ain't troublesome  
> Honestly, I don't even remember all the events, I worked on this for a month somehow and I'm not even reading it over.  
> Immediately. Yet.  
> I can totally (not) resist the urge to edit every single nuance of a fanfic...  
> ...  
> ...  
> please don't make me edit this, i've got so much elsamaren to write (and like... non-fanfic things to do)
> 
> UPDATE: I couldn't help myself, I edited it. Typos should be fixed. Y'all convinced me to write a follow up, eventually I'll add another chapter to it.


End file.
